War Bride
by SME
Summary: My version of how Ward and June met.


Author's Note #1 Like many people of a certain age, I watched 'Leave It to Beaver' reruns afternoons after school and have caught episodes sporadically since then. I am by no means an authority on LITB. Before starting this story, I researched it a bit to see just what information about the show is out there. If something I learned or already knew suited my purposes, I used it. If not, I ignored it. Also, I did not include anything from 'The New Leave It to Beaver' series from the 1980s. My point is it was never my intention to write a historically perfect account of LITB's backstory, especially in regards to family members, childhood incidents that Ward or June might have mentioned during the series, etc. Since most of the plot takes place before the show aired, this shouldn't present much of a problem, but purists may have some objections.

Author's Note #2 I don't have a beta reader so I worked without a net. After you've read a story so many times you have it memorized, it's difficult to catch the mistakes. I apologize in advance.

Author's Note #3 If you need your LITB fics to be as mild as the original TV series, you need to skip this one.

**War Bride**

"Beaver, if you don't quit stopping to look at every single thing in this house, we're never going to get it cleaned out."

"Hey, Wally, what's this?" Beaver held out an official looking document to his brother. "It was in a stack of Dad's papers that came from his attorney's office a few months ago. Have you seen it? I never noticed it before."

Wally wanted to take the end table he was carrying and do something crazy with it like throw it through the window or smash it into the wall. This weekend had turned into a grueling hell, and he was sick to death of being the one responsible for herding everyone around. Couldn't anybody do anything without him first pointing out that it needed to be done, showing them how to do it, or hounding them to keep their eyes on the ball? Nobody was getting anything done; especially Beaver who was busier unpacking stuff and examining like he was on an archeological dig than he was packing it away.

"What does it matter?" Wally growled with undisguised anger, "Get back to work! We're on a deadline! Remember?" He was instantly sorry for losing his temper. It wasn't Beaver's fault that Wally was so damn…What? Tired? Angry? Sad? All of the above? The Beaver was past sixty, but his face still had a childlike softness to it that made it impossible for Wally to be mean to him without feeling guilty. Wally mentally counted to ten like he used to do when his kids were on thin ice and forced himself to speak with more civility than he thought he had left in him. "I'm sorry, Beav, but listen, Mom and Dad have been gone almost a year. If it was important, we would've needed it by now. So, come on, get going." Beaver made no move to get back to work so with anger ramping back up, Wally barked, "Unless it's a map to a treasure buried in the backyard, keep moving. The real estate agent said she'd be here tomorrow morning to show the house at 9 o'clock sharp. If the place looks like a disaster area, it'll scare off the buyer. We shoulda had everything packed up a long time ago."

This was the first serious nibble they'd had on the house. There wasn't much interest in older homes that weren't old enough to be considered antique but were too old to be considered modern. Somehow, perhaps because Wally was the oldest, _responsibility,_ in all of its mundane and aggravating glory, was always thrust upon him. This time was no different. As usual, Beaver left it to Wally deal with their parents' estate, trusting Wally to do the right thing. In the beginning, Wally was too grief stricken to think about disposing of his folks' belongings, but at this point, he had to admit that he had let things slide. After a few months of not hearing a word from the real estate agent, he had almost forgotten the house was up for sale until the agent called to tell him she had a potential buyer. Even if the house didn't sell, it was past time to have it cleaned out.

Once again, Wally had to take it upon himself to make sure the job finally got done and had used every tool he could think of, up to and including force, bribery, and guilt trips, to make the entire family show up to work this weekend. The trouble was every piece of furniture, every what-knot, every long forgotten stowed away box had a story or a memory attached to it. Take June's treasured recipe box, for example, that held her secrets to making mouths water. Beaver running across it kicked off an hour long discussion about June's best recipes. Hey, remember her chocolate cake with the gooey caramel center? Remember the special stuffing she made every Thanksgiving? Ward's old leather chair where he liked to sit and watch TV. Remember how he loved westerns? The lamp Beaver knocked over with a baseball that Wally worked so hard to fix without anyone being the wiser, but of course, their parents weren't fooled for a second. Remember the lecture on honesty Dad had given them when he found out about the lamp? Everyone had been happily skipping down memory lane all weekend. Only Wally kept his nose to the grindstone. Time was almost up. They had to stop dawdling. He couldn't do it by himself.

Beaver ignored Wally's outburst. Wally was always grumpy. So what else was new? "Yeah, I know…" The activity outside the large picture window caught Beaver's attention. His wife, Violet, and his ten year old granddaughter, Jamie, were overseeing an impromptu tag sale in the front yard. Wally's oldest grandson, Wallace III, fondly nicknamed Ace and a killer on the football field just like his grandpa, was heaving boxes into the U-Haul truck they rented for the weekend. Beaver sighed sadly and finished his sentence, the longing in his heart for his parents cutting him more deeply than usual due to spending time in his childhood home, "but I miss them, and I hate to see the old place go."

Softening, Wally nodded his head in solemn agreement. "Me, too, but they had a good run. Happily married over sixty-seven years." He grinned and pointed his thumb toward his chest, "One really terrific son. One out of two ain't bad. Five terrific grandchildren. Three terrific great-grandchildren." His smile dissolved into a frown. "And, they died peacefully. I don't think we should complain."

Now that the initial breathtaking pain of his parents' deaths had subsided into a more manageable dull ache, Wally was able to see their family was lucky to be spared the long, debilitating illnesses many of his friends faced with their aging parents. However, after his father died almost six weeks to the day after his mother and many well-intentioned people told him it was _all for the best_, Wally couldn't see how any of it could possibly be for the best. June's death after a fall down the stairs was a gut punch nobody expected. Both Ward and June were spry for their ages, no major illnesses or disabilities. Wally's wife kept reminding him that his parents were elderly and their passing was inevitable. He knew Janice meant well, but still, shouldn't there have been some warning? A small heart attack before a fatal one? A memory that started to slip before full-blown dementia set in? Anything to remind him his parents weren't going to live forever. Wally still raked himself over the coals for not insisting they move into a retirement home; a place without staircases, loose rugs, slick floors, and other dangers that lurked in old houses waiting for hips to break and lives to take. If he had, he'd still have his parents. The doctor told them June had not suffered. She simply didn't wake up after the surgery on her hip. Ward was stoic, only breaking down once at June's bedside after they were told there was no hope, but everyone knew he was devastated over the loss of his beloved wife. A few weeks later, Ward laid down for a nap, and he didn't wake up, either, taking the solace Wally and Beaver had in having one parent left with him.

Almost every Sunday afternoon for the past fifteen years, Wally and Ward had gone out for a cup of coffee and a pastry while June played bridge with her friends. Wally loved Sunday afternoons with his dad, especially since his own children had grown up and left the nest and Beaver landed a job that required him to move over three hours away. With the exception of spending time with his parents, everything else had to be mapped out like the D-Day Invasion. Wally's wife, his children, and his grandchildren all had intricate schedules of their own made up of Gordian knots of work, school, games, beauty appointments, parties, practices, recitals, committees, clubs. The list went on and on. Gone were the days when Wally could jump out of bed in the morning with the idea of taking his grandchildren fishing or getting everyone together for dinner. Nothing could be planned anymore without a dozen phone calls and now, text messages. Wally loathed text messages. Why anyone would want to waste time hunting and pecking on a tiny screen when they could pick up the phone and call or god forbid, talk to someone in person was beyond him. Beaver living hours away meant he couldn't drop over for a barbecue or boys' night out like he used to do. Wally missed firing up the grill and kicking back out on the deck with his brother while their wives chatted in the kitchen. Ward and June's lives had moved at a much slower pace. Wally could always count on them for company when everyone else, including his wife, was too busy.

On Sunday afternoons, Ward and Wally strolled the three blocks to Batten's Bakery for some sugar and caffeine and most importantly, for some father-son time. Wally's order at the bakery varied. Sometimes, he had an apple fritter. Sometimes, he had a bear claw. He'd even tried a disgusting jalapeno flavored jelly doughnut once. Wally had gone through the entire menu at Batten's a hundred times. Ward, on the other hand, always ordered a plain doughnut. Black coffee and a plain doughnut. Whenever Wally teased his dad for his lack of originality, Ward only shrugged and said a plain doughnut changed his life once, refusing to elaborate on just how a doughnut could be life changing. Wally never found out the story behind the doughnut, but thinking about it never failed to bring a twinkle to his dad's eye and put a rare goofy smile on his face. Now, Wally would never know the story. After all these months since his dad's death, Wally still didn't know what to do with himself on Sunday afternoons.

Beaver pushed the paper at him again. "Come on, Wally, look at this. It's old fashioned, but I'm pretty sure it's a marriage certificate. It says Ward Cleaver, Jr. and June Bronson on it, but the wedding date is wrong."

Wally put down the end table and flipped his reading glasses down from their perch on top of his head. A few minutes ago, he ran across a cardboard box full of his old football and track trophies in the attic. How did he go from star athlete to needing reading glasses so quickly? Where had the time gone? He didn't even want to think about the arthritis in his knees or how badly his back was going to hurt tomorrow morning after working almost nonstop for two days loading boxes and moving furniture. No doubt his wife would be complaining with her sciatica, too. Janice will probably punish him for being a slave driver by having one of her headaches every night for the next month or two.

Janice had a lot of headaches lately. Funny, his touch seemed to bring them on. His suggestion she get tested for a brain tumor had not gone over well. Over the years, Wally had done his level best to recreate the magic his folks had in their marriage with Janice, but nothing he did worked. Duplicating the loving, patient ways of Ward and June had proved impossible. He and Janice were pushing fifty years of marriage, but more and more, Wally wondered if it was finally time to call it quits. Should they let it go while they still had some life left to live? Or, after almost a half century together, was it best to hang on to the familiar and keep trying? How could they have wasted fifty years? They had loved each other at first, hadn't they? It was hard for Wally to remember anymore. At some point, Wally wasn't certain exactly when it happened, fighting became the norm and their children seemed to be the only thing holding them together. Eventually, the fights were replaced by a toxic sort of apathy which ushered in a time of drifting when it was easier to ignore their problems and hope they worked out. Then, the grandchildren came along, bringing some joy back into their lives and giving them something to focus on other than their unhappiness. Currently, it was financial concerns – their house, their investments, their pensions, and what was left of their futures were tangled up together. Was it worth the heartache of divvying all that up and destroying their family in the hopes of ending a different kind of heartache?

Wally couldn't count the nights this dilemma kept awake while he had nothing better to do than to think. So many times, Wally wanted to confide in his dad, to ask his advice about how to best go about fixing his broken marriage, but he was too ashamed to admit that his marriage needed fixing. He and Janice had the perfect example of what a marriage should be like so why couldn't they fit the pattern? Maybe, his dad could have given him the secret formula to a good marriage, but it was too late. Too late for so many things…too late to find out about the doughnut, too late to ask his dad's advice, and probably too late for him and Janice. At least, Beaver and Violet were happy if Beaver's claims were true, and they seemed to be. One out of two ain't bad.

Wally took the document from Beaver and scanned over it. "You're right, Beav. Maybe, it's a clerical error." He shrugged and handed it back to Beaver before picking up the table again. "Weird."

"Yeah, weird," Beaver echoed, stuffing the paper into a file.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

"Ward? Ward? Are you listening to me?"

Ward was busy stealing glances of their pretty waitress over the rim of his coffee cup and had, in fact, not been listening to his breakfast companion drone on and on about how the New York Yankees had blown yesterday's game. Though he couldn't afford it, Ward ate breakfast at Dewey's Diner every morning before work. He sat in a booth, never at the counter or a table because the booths were more private than the tables and were always covered by the same waitress. The counter came with a more up-close and personal view of the wait staff, but it was manned by the grossly overweight and extremely hairy Dewey himself and the nearest waitress with a free hand.

Ward was interested in only one particular waitress, and he made it his business to sit in a booth in her theater of operations. He always ordered the Hungry Man Special consisting of, subject to rationing, two eggs cooked to order, hash browns or home fries, two biscuits with gravy or jam, choice of meat, choice of juice, and coffee because it took the most time to order and was the most expensive item on the menu. Ward learned early on that the waitresses paid more attention to customers who ordered big breakfasts _More cream, sir? Top off the coffee? Is the bacon crisp enough?_ than they did to those who ordered meager fare like toast and coffee. The problem with such daily extravagance at breakfast meant his lunches had to consist of bologna sandwiches, sometimes without the bologna, and suppers of canned franks and beans. Not to mention, Ward wasn't much of a breakfast eater. The sight of fried, greasy meat early in the morning turned his stomach and he absolutely refused to eat biscuits, but his lovely waitress more than made up for any financial and digestive inconveniences the Hungry Man Special caused him.

Ward preferred to eat alone so he could pick at his breakfast and admire his waitress when she wasn't paying attention and pretend to read the newspaper when she was paying attention, but occasionally, his friend and coworker in the mailroom of Brockwell Financial Trust Co., Nelson Purvis, invited himself to join him. This was one of those mornings, and there was nothing for Ward to do but do his best to act as if he cared that the Yankees' World Series hopes were looking dim.

Nelson snapped his fingers in front of Ward's face. "Earth to Ward! Come on, snap out of it! Do you want your bacon or not?" he asked as he stuffed the last piece of his own bacon into his mouth. "And how about those biscuits?"

Ward always fed his biscuits to the birds in the park on the way to work, but he shook his head and pushed over his plate. "Help yourself."

Nelson snatched up the bacon and the biscuits, made sandwiches out of them, and ate them with astonishingly ravenous haste for someone who had only just devoured his own Hungry Man Special and who deceptively resembled a beanpole. Where did Nelson put it all? Ward often wondered. After gulping down the remainder of his coffee, Nelson wiped his mouth with his napkin and again with the back of his hand for good measure. With a mischievous grin, he said, "You know, it would be cheaper to ask her for a date."

Quickly, Ward checked to make sure the object of his affection hadn't heard Nelson's comment, not that she was aware of being the object of his affection. Lucky for him, she was busy carrying an empty coffee pot to the kitchen and couldn't possibly have heard. Ward's smitten gaze at the waitress turned into a glare after it traveled back to his friend. He couldn't argue with Nelson's logic so a scowl served as his reply.

Nelson used the table to pull himself to his feet and tossed down enough money to cover both their meals. Ward lifted his eyebrows in question. "I ate most of yours," Nelson explained. "We better get going or we'll be late."

"Thanks. You go on ahead. I want to finish my coffee."

Nelson cocked his head at Ward's favorite waitress as she came back from the kitchen carrying a full coffee pot and winked. He donned his newsboy hat at a jaunty angle and slowly clumped out of the restaurant. Ward's eyes as well as the sympathetic eyes of many of the other patrons followed him out. Ward could afford to wait a few more minutes before leaving. It would take Nelson far longer to walk the two blocks to work than he because Nelson lacked the full use of his legs.

"The war?" she asked softly.

"Hmm, what?" Ward's mind had wandered away from her for one second and now, here she was standing in front of him. Talking to him!

"Were his legs injured in the war?"

"Yeah, yeah, they were." If you call practically getting them blown off by a mine an injury_._ Unwelcome images of the war filled Ward's head. _Not now,_ he thought. _Not now._

"My boy- er, uh, my Charlie…he's over there. Somewhere in the Pacific, I mean. What about you?"

"I was," Ward answered tightly, "the Seabees."

Suddenly animated, the waitress asked, "How long have you been back? Did you ever run into my Charlie? Charles Stivers?" she asked hopefully. "He's in the Navy. I haven't heard from him in a long time."

Ward tried to keep the incredulity off his face and out of his tone. "Uh, Miss?"

"June. My name is June. June Bronson."

Ward knew perfectly well her name was June, but good manners prevented him from calling her by her first name without an invitation. Her name was printed on a tag pinned to her uniform, and ever since the fateful day six weeks and three days ago when he stepped inside Dewey's Diner on a whim to treat himself to a doughnut and had fallen in love, he had been itching to use it. That day, his waitress, a curvaceous, peroxide blonde named Harriet spilled coffee in his lap and let the doughnut roll off the plate and down the front of his suit. The clientele at Dewey's reflected the fact that the diner was far from a classy establishment, and every man sitting within view of Harriet's rather shapely derrière whistled and catcalled when she bent over to retrieve the doughnut from under the table. Harriet promptly burst into tears and stormed off to the restroom, leaving Ward sitting there in wet, sticky disarray. That's when June, a natural strawberry blonde vision in a pink uniform, took over. She calmly helped him clean up the mess and after an accidental brush of her fingers against his cheek and a couple of shy apologetic smiles, Ward was hooked. He wondered if June remembered the day that meant so much to him. Dewey's was always jumping, and it was a rare visit when something wasn't spilled or broken. Once, a negligent customer set a napkin on fire with his cigarette. That time, Harriet redeemed herself from the doughnut incident by dousing the small blaze with a pitcher of orange juice. Each time Ward came in, June was all business and never treated him differently than any other customer. Apparently, it took more than a runaway doughnut to create a connection with her.

"June, there are hundreds of thousands of soldiers in the war." He couldn't believe the single time she had spoken to him beyond his breakfast order she had brought up the one subject he couldn't abide.

Embarrassed heat crept up June's face. Of course, he doesn't know Charlie. He must think I'm an idiot. Flustered she asked, "Would you like more coffee?"

By this time, Ward's stomach was roiling with acid and he didn't want more coffee, but held out his cup for a refill, anyway. His hand shook, and he hoped she didn't notice. June's hand shook as she filled his cup, and she hoped he didn't notice.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

"Why don't you put yourself out of your misery and ask her for a date?" Ward rued the day Nelson noticed his infatuation with the waitress. Nelson had been bugging him ever since, and today, he wouldn't stop harping on it.

"Because she might be married." Was _My Charlie _June's husband? It would seem that way, but she didn't expressly say he was. She didn't wear a wedding ring, either, Ward checked her left hand about every other visit to the diner to make sure, but times had been tough so this proved nothing. What kind of husband doesn't keep in touch with a wife like June? One busy fighting for his life, Ward reminded himself. As he ruminated on the devastating existence of Charles Stivers, he dully went about his duties as a mailroom clerk slash errand boy while Nelson periodically harassed him about June or bored him with rants about the Yankees. "Besides, I had to pay for another semester of college last week. My wining and dining budget has flown right out the window."

"I can loan you a couple of bucks. It's not like I have any dolls beating down my door."

Poor Nelson, mused Ward. Girls always pitied him and babied him and made a big fuss over his sacrifice for his country, but when they realized Nelson's injuries made it impossible for him to dance, or bowl, or do anything that required him to stand on his feet or walk for any length of time, they shied away from romantic entanglements with him. Nelson was stuck minding the hats and purses while everyone else had a good time. His ponderously slow gait was enough to test the patience of the even the most charitable girls. Also, Ward knew Nelson was terrified that, in the event he actually met a woman who could live with his physical limitations, she wouldn't be able to stand the sight of his mangled lower body. Ward knew something of this fear himself.

"Take her out for a beer," Nelson suggested. "I can spot you a couple of beers. Easy."

Outraged by the idea of asking June out for a beer, Ward answered vehemently, "I can't take June to a bar!"

"Why not?"

"Because June is…June is…" Ward casted about for the right word until inspiration hit. "June is what my mother would call quality."

"Quality?"

"Yeah, she comes from money. She's never been in a bar."

Nelson snorted, "And you would know this how? From one of your long, lingering conversations over a plate of ham and eggs?"

"I just know, that's all."

"June is a hash slinger in a two-bit greasy spoon. Trust me, she ain't no debutante."

Ward fought the urge to loosen Nelson's teeth. Nobody was going to belittle June as long he was around, not even Nelson. "What would a dumb football player from Podunk City, Nebraska know about debutantes?"

Nelson looked away from Ward and replied stonily, "Nothing, Ward. Not a thing." The switchboard buzzed, and they turned their attention back to work.

Ward instantly regretted the low blow. A college standout wide receiver, Nelson was the fastest thing on any field and well on his way to a career in professional football until the war interrupted and then took his legs.

They diligently ignored each other until the 5 o'clock bell rang signaling quitting time. Not wanting to prolong the silence with his closest friend, Nelson turned to Ward and sheepishly held out his hand. "Look, I'm sorry for badmouthing your girl."

More than ready to call a truce, Ward warmly shook Nelson's hand. "She isn't my girl. And, you're right; I don't know anything about her. Hey, I'm sorry I made that crack about football. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Doesn't matter," Nelson answered tersely, but after a second, he diffused the remaining tension between them with one of his gap-toothed grins. "How about I buy you a beer to make up for causing our little squabble?"

"Some other time, okay? I have class tonight."

"Okay, Einstein. You'll be running this place before we know it. Once you're in charge, can I have a raise?"

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

Instead of taking the bus, Ward decided to walk home that evening after night school. In no particular hurry to get back to his lonely apartment, he ambled along thinking about what Nelson said. Was June really just a common hash slinger? No, he didn't think so. From the beginning, June seemed different from the other girls who worked at the diner. Generally, there were four waitresses working the day shift along with Dewey, who could be found there at all hours. Harriet, with her Betty Grable hair and curves, enjoyed flirting with the male customers until some invisible line was crossed that caused her to stomp off to the back in a rage. Trixie, who was even blonder and curvier than Harriet and judging by the way she appeared to relish every pinch and slap on the bottom she got, had no boundaries at all. Trixie was what his mother would call two steps away from the gutter. And there was Tiny, who wasn't so tiny. Thirty years older than the others, Tiny was as broad as she was tall, and when riled, could let out a string of expletives that would make a sailor blush. Nobody messed with Tiny.

June was different. With her placid demeanor and patrician bearing she seemed like a product of a fancy finishing school, not the school of hard knocks. _Quality_, Ward heard his mother say. He knew quality, too, when he saw it. Not that he came from a wealthy family. Far from it. The Cleaver side of the family were farmers, eking out a living for generations on the same tired piece of land that was past its prime almost a century ago. However, his dad bucked the system by owning a grocery store, and Ward had grown up working there. The store was on the wrong side of town, but was moderately successful because it not only delivered, but had a reputation for having the speediest delivery in town. Until the war broke out, Ward and his Irish twin brother, Wallace, had been the providers of the speedy service. Ward and Wallace hadn't had much of a childhood because, as soon as they were old enough to be trusted on errands alone, they were put to work. After Wallace, a sister, Mina, was born. Mina caught the German measles and died when she was just shy of four. She was a beautiful little girl with dark curls and dark eyes and a love for ice cream. Beyond those superficial characteristics, Ward hardly remembered her. Their mother caught the measles from Mina, unfortunately, while she was pregnant. As a result, the family's actual set of twins, Michael and Nicholas, were born both mentally retarded and physically limited. Aside from the barest living expenses, every penny the store made went towards the care of the twins.

While working for his parents, Ward had occasion to make deliveries to all kinds of people. After years of experience, like his mother, he developed an eye for discerning who was wealthy and who was poor and where they fell in between. Who would pay their bills on time and who would ride the books. Who was quality and who was putting on airs. June Brosnon, Ward was firmly convinced, was quality.

Thinking of his mother made Ward sad. He had broken her heart when he declined to become the heir to the grocery store throne. They were hardly on speaking terms anymore. Every phone call home began with his mother's pleas for him to come back to help run the store and ended with harsh words and tears at his betrayal for refusing. His dad was more forgiving since he himself had readily put down the plow to try his hand at shop keeping. His mother, who had come from a long line of merchants, steadily refused to see Ward's position. The way his mother saw it, she and his dad had put their blood, sweat, and tears into building a business so their children wouldn't have to work as hard as they did when it came time for them to start supporting themselves. What kind of ungrateful, idiot of a child would refuse a readymade business? Didn't Ward have any respect for their hard work? For them? Who was he to snub the livelihood that had served his parents, his grandparents, and his great-grandparents well? What was the point of them working so hard if none of their children was around to appreciate it and take advantage of it?

During his childhood, Ward had paradoxically both loved and hated the store. He loved it because working there meant he wasn't Michael or Nicholas or stuck in the house helping with them. He hated it because he found the business of running a business excruciatingly dull. Inventories, marketing strategies, and overhead expenses bored him to tears. Every night at the supper table, his parents discussed the store and its problems in fine detail. Sugar had gone up 3 cents a pound. Would they or would they not pass this cost along to the customer? Should they go with a new milk supplier? Dickson's, their crosstown rival, had started stocking cosmetics. Should they start selling cosmetics, too? His parents discussed such things as if the fate of the world hung in the balance. As a kid, Ward thought it was boring and meaningless. As an adult, he realized the fate of world, at least his parents' little corner of it, did hang on such mundane matters. But after seeing men, boys really, thrown around like dolls by bomb blasts on god forsaken beaches on god forsaken islands he had never previously heard of, Ward couldn't make himself care about milk and lipstick.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

According his watch, Ward was awakened at exactly 3:12 a.m. by a familiar thudding on his wall. It was Mrs. Crawford, aka Old Lady Crawford, who lived in the apartment next to his. Always first to complain to the landlord about the slightest infraction of the building's rules, Old Lady Crawford was hated by the other residents. The previous tenant in Ward's apartment moved out because of her. Apartment was a generous term for his tiny space in the old converted warehouse, but it matched his likewise tiny salary. His apartment consisted of a miniature combination kitchen/living area, a miniscule bathroom with capricious plumbing that may or may not produce hot water, and a lumpy murphy bed. The one luxury he allowed himself was a large, comfortable easy chair with a matching footrest that took up most of the apartment. Ward was paying for this extravagance on time and the interest bordered on usury, but the ability to come home and put his feet up after a long day was well worth the monthly extortion payments to the furniture store. No pets, no radio or records after 10 p.m., no liquor, and with the exception of family members, no visitors of the opposite sex past the lobby. The building was always crawling with long-lost relatives. Old Lady Crawford delighted in turning in anyone who dared to break the rules.

The apartments also had paper thin walls, the reason Mrs. Crawford, unlike the other residents of the building Ward didn't refer to her as 'Old Lady' Crawford, was knocking on the wall with her cane. He had been having a nightmare, a loud one. Loud enough to disturb Mrs. Crawford. It was a rare night when he didn't fight the war in his dreams. Sometimes, he fought it alone, sometimes, with his brother, Wallace. The battle always lost. When he got home from work, he would find an apple pie waiting outside his door, Mrs. Crawford's way of consoling him. Ward thumped his belly. He was gaining weight. Too many apple pies. Knowing he couldn't get back to sleep, he lit a cigarette and turned his thoughts to June.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

The next morning at the diner, Ward fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers as he eagerly watched June make her way down the row of booths towards him. Today was the day. He was going to ask June for a date, Charlie be damned. After stopping at three other booths, she was, at last, standing next to him, pad and pencil in hand, looking at him expectantly after having repeated _May I take your order? _twice. He had stayed up until dawn practicing what he would say to her, but now that the big moment was here, he found himself at a loss for words.

Happy to be on a first name basis with her, Ward smiled pleasantly and said, "Good morning, June." He enjoyed saying her name aloud. _June. _He found her name alluring. It reminded him of Ferris wheels, pink lemonade, and sultry evening breezes. Three of his favorite things.

"Good morning," she replied with an encouraging nod, "What will you have this morning?" June knew the young man's order by heart, but occasionally, he threw her by ordering sausage instead of bacon or tomato juice instead of orange. From the look on his face, he was building up to something. Maybe, he was going to surprise her by ordering a stack of pancakes.

"Actually, I was hoping we could talk for a minute," he said with a boyish crack in his voice. He cleared his throat and motioned across the table. "Any chance you could sit down?" This was harder than he thought it would be.

Was he blind? Couldn't he see she didn't have time for a chat? The place was packed. Tiny was out sick this morning and the hotel across the street was hosting a VFW convention. June kept her face politely neutral as she nodded toward the crowded tables. "I'm sorry, sir, as you can see, we're –"

"Ward. Ward Cleaver. Please, call me Ward."

"I'm sorry, _Ward_, but I'm very busy…" she trailed off hoping he would get the show on the road.

"You know what I always order. Bring me anything you want, but June, I was wondering if you would like to go to dinner with me? Saturday night? I mean, if you're free. And, if you want to, of course."

A thunderstruck stare was the only response she immediately managed. Hadn't she told him about Charlie? How could he think she would ever go out with anyone but Charlie? She started to shake her head no.

Ward held up his hand to halt the refusal he could see coming. "Wait, June, I know you don't know me very well, but well, I assure you I'm a very nice fellow, if I do say so myself." His attempt at humor fell flat so he forged onward, scrambling to think of favorable things to say about himself. "I work at Brockwell Financial just up the street. It's a large, well-respected company that's into everything. Financial planning, insurance, loans. They have offices across the country and there are lots of opportunities there. Right now, I work in the mailroom, but it won't be forever. I'm taking classes at night. Working on a business degree. My boss says once I get the degree, I can move up if I'm willing to work hard." He stated firmly with a grin, "And I'm willing." June continued to mutely stare at him with appalled wide eyes. She looked as if he asked her to help him rob a bank instead of out on a date. Ward realized he didn't stand a chance. A frown darkened his features and the merry twinkle in his eyes flickered out. Cutting his losses, he gave up and said, "I'm sorry. I can see I overstepped."

"I'm sure you're very nice, but I have Charlie, and I can't –"

Ward stood up and jammed his gray fedora on his head. "Forget it," he said tersely through clenched teeth, angry at himself for babbling like an idiot and for asking a girl who obviously didn't want to be asked. He narrowly dodged tables and customers as he made for the exit. "Just forget it."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

After a tough finance exam and an economics class, Ward stood staring dejectedly at the pouring rain through the heavy glass doors at entrance to the building devoted to business studies at the small college he attended. He was pretty sure he muffed the finance test. Lately, his mind was elsewhere when he should be concentrating on his studies. His attention was always divided it seemed. Wallace, the war, college, his future, and now, June had his mind running in all directions. Ward glanced back over his shoulder. The halls and classrooms were empty, the other students and professors long gone. It was high time he left, too, but it was raining cats and dogs, and the prospect of walking out into the soup was not appealing in the least. Feeling like a creaky old man, Ward rolled his shoulders a few times, wondering if he was going to be able to predict the weather by how much his body ached for the rest of his life. The janitor was slowly moving down the hallway, giving the floor a final sweep and flipping off lights in the classrooms as he went along. Leaving was Ward's only option so after mentally cursing himself for not bringing his umbrella and the weather forecaster on the radio who had said it wasn't going to rain until tomorrow, he took the plunge. Head down low, Ward was striding down the sidewalk toward the bus stop when an unexpected hand on his arm startled him so badly he dropped his econ book into a puddle.

"Damn it!" he swore and whirled on the one who had accosted him.

"Ward, it's me, June. June from the diner." Stunned, Ward had stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth agape, so she stooped to retrieve his soggy book.

"June? What are you doing here? You're soaking wet!" He yanked off his jacket and put it around her. With June tucked protectively under his arm, they ran to the shelter of a nearby building. The door was locked so Ward gently nudged her as far as possible into the doorway while he stood in front of her, shielding her from the rain as best he could with his body. He had never been this close to her before. Close enough to kiss her. An old yellow lightbulb flickered above their heads. In the dim light, he strained to see the exact shade of her blue eyes were and the adorable smattering of freckles across her nose. She smelled sweetly of gardenias. For the rest of his life, the scent of gardenias would remind him of June. Despite the rain, it was a warm late summer San Diego night; even so, she was shivering. Ward gathered his jacket more securely around her. "What are you doing here?" he asked again.

June hugged his textbook to her chest and tried not to sound as desperate as she felt. "I, I wanted to talk to you, but you haven't been around the diner for a while. I remembered you said that you work for Brockwell Financial, but I missed you there and your friend…uh, the one with the injured legs…"

"Nelson," Ward prompted.

"Yes, Nelson. Nelson told me you have class here tonight so I waited for you."

"In the rain?" he asked incredulously.

June nodded. "Nelson told me which building, but I didn't know exactly where you'd be. I had to stand where I could see both exits." She gave him an embarrassed half smile and pushed the droopy, bedraggled feather in her hat away from her forehead. "It wasn't supposed to rain."

"But why? What could be so important?" Were she and Charlie kaput? Had she come to declare her love for him? Nah, he was hardly worth ruining her hat over.

"Please, Ward, I don't want to discuss it here, like this. Can't we go someplace where we can talk? Privately?"

"You're soaked to the bone. You have to get out of these wet clothes. Where do you live? I'll take you home. You can explain on the way." Ward turned toward the street and miraculously saw a cab coming. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled for it. Taxis weren't in the budget, but he couldn't expect her to walk all the way to the bus stop in this rain. What the heck, he thought, just call me Diamond Jim Brady.

June refused to state her business in the cab so Ward found himself waiting in her living room while she changed her clothes. New curtains and colorful throw pillows didn't disguise the apartment was a dump. Paint was peeling, the ceiling was ringed with ugly brown circles caused by water leaks, the rug was threadbare, and the furniture was shabby. Peeking into the kitchen, he found a rusty sink and a stove that was probably older than he was. There was a huge old fashioned tea kettle like his Grandmother Cleaver used to have by the sink. He filled it with water and hoped he wouldn't blow himself up lighting the ancient stove.

Ward rubbed at his damp suit, afraid the soaking would necessitate a professional cleaning or far worse, a new suit. The shower was running, and he debated the propriety of being in a young lady's apartment unchaperoned while she bathed. His mother would be horrified which made being there all the sweeter.

Ward loved his mother, but he didn't like her much. Irina Krasnoff Cleaver grew up in Brooklyn, New York. Her father was a Russian immigrant. Her mother, nee Smith, seemingly appeared from out the blue with murky, untraceable origins. The Cleavers had never been to Brooklyn and precious few Krasnoffs had ever left Brooklyn and none of the proliferate Smiths of the world belonged to Irina so Ward didn't know his mother's side of the family very well. Irina lost her mother at a young age and her father at the tail end of the Spanish flu epidemic, the loss of her precious father the more difficult of the two bereavements to bear. Irina spoke perfect English, but affected a heavy Russian accent like her father's when it suited her purposes, and it often did. It was her way of keeping people at arm's length. The kids in the Cleaver's neighborhood were terrified of her. Rumors had spread among them that she was a gypsy witch who stole children and sold them away to her gypsy friends, and Irina did little to quell their fears. With her black eyes and wiry black hair, she looked every bit the part of a gypsy witch. Michael and Nicholas didn't help to enhance Ward and Wallace's popularity, either. Irina never let them out in public and thus, they became shrouded in mystery. Rumor had it, they were gypsy cursed. The end result was Ward and Wallace didn't have many friends when they young children. As they grew older, Ward kept a small circle of friends, but Wallace, the more outgoing of the two brothers, became very popular and made many friends. Though in the end, the brothers were each other's best friend.

Irina wasn't always an eccentric enigma. Before Mina died and the twins were born, Irina worked alongside her husband in their store, the big city girl getting on reasonably well with the rural Indiana housewives who shopped there. Irina was a member of a sewing circle, hosting the group in her home once a month. However, the devastating fallout of the German measles radically changed her. Irina cloistered herself in the house with the twins, her little chicks as she called them, and devoted herself to their care. Whenever Cleav could scrape up enough money, she took Michael and Nicholas to see new doctors, some legitimate and some snake oil salesmen, in the hopes of finding a cure for them. Irina kept the books for the store, but seldom went there except after business hours. For reasons Ward couldn't understand, his mother had nothing but contempt for the neighborhood women even though they were nothing but supportive after tragedy struck the Cleaver family. Irina despised them for their shows of concern, and especially, for their perfect children. Irina never let go of her poor attitude, but slowly over time, bit by bit, she dropped the accent and most of her odd ways. By then, Ward was almost grown and it was too late to salvage both his relationship with his mother and his childhood.

While Ward waited for the water to heat, he took a closer look around June's place. The walls were lined with photos of movie stars torn from fan magazines. Clark Gable, Myrna Loy, Spencer Tracy, the entire MGM kit and caboodle. Curious because June didn't seem like the star-struck type. He spied a framed photograph on the coffee table and picked it up. There were four people in the photo, two women and two men. The women were June and Trixie, but he didn't recognize the men. Ward assumed the swarthy young man with his arm draped possessively around June was her Charlie. With his dark hair and eyes, the shape of his face, and the curve of his lips, Charlie looked remarkably like Tyrone Power. Coincidentally, as he put the photo back in place, he saw Tyrone Power gazing up at him from the cover of Photoplay magazine. Ward was not a fan of Tyrone Power. He picked up the photo again to study it more closely, trying to figure out where they were and what they were doing. Were they at bar? It was the Navy uniforms the men wore that ultimately stole his attention and held it, reminding him of Wallace, and causing his eyes to fill and sting.

"That's Trixie and Howard and Charlie and I."

Ward flinched as though he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and quickly put the photo down as he blinked back tears. "Charlie looks like Tyrone Power. Could be his kid brother."

June beamed, "He does, doesn't he? Everybody says that."

Barefooted, June was dressed in a filmy skirt and a floral blouse in shades of blue that complemented her coloring to perfection. Her wet hair, worn shorter than most girls and spared the usual ponderous array of braids and buns and hair pins, was slicked back away from her face and she hadn't bothered reapplying her make up. Ward knew June didn't intend to look seductive, but this was the overall effect, innocently seductive. His eyes were drawn to the hollow at the base of her throat, the urge to kiss her there almost too powerful to resist. A fantasy about sweeping her into his arms and kissing her before she had the chance to say anything else, to say anything more about Charlie, danced tantalizingly before his eyes, but Tyrone Power swept women off their feet in the movies, not boring Ward Cleaver.

"Ward? Is something wrong?"

"Huh? Um, no…I was just thinking…"

"About what?"

About kissing you until you ask, Charlie who? Just then, the kettle began to whistle, and she hustled off to the kitchen. Saved by the tea kettle.

June declined his offer to help with the tea so Ward sat on the sofa absently thumbing through one of the many movie magazines lying around while watching her fuss over a plate of cookies. He was dying to know what June wanted from him, and here she was dithering over cookies like she was about to serve tea to the King of England. When June finally achieved a standard of excellence known only to her, she carried in the tray of tea and cookies, and he cleared a space for it on the coffee table.

"Just shove those magazines out of the way," she told him. "Trixie leaves them scattered all over the place."

"Trixie? Does she live here, too?"

"We're roommates. Charlie introduced us. She got me the job a Dewey's, too. Trixie dates Howard, but he isn't her only beau." She nodded toward the photograph of the four of them. Howard is a friend of Charlie's. Trixie's out with another one of her boyfriends tonight. She won't be back until all hours. Our shift starts at 6 a.m. I don't know how she does it. Sometimes, she doesn't even bother going to bed. She comes home, changes into her uniform, and goes straight to work."

They sipped tea and ate vanilla flavored cookies and chit-chatted about the weather, the diner, and Trixie's fascination with movie stars until Ward thought he would go bonkers. After what seemed like an eternity, there was a lull in their mindless conversation so he ventured to ask, "June, would you like to tell me why I'm here?"

Evidently, she did not because she launched into her life's story instead of the matter at hand. "I'm from Chicago. We live near Lake Michigan, you wouldn't have heard of the neighborhood. My father is in banking, and my mother is the president of the Garden Club. I have two sisters, an older sister, Pamela, and a younger sister, Peggy."

As eager as he was to learn every little detail about June, Ward wanted shake her until the reason he was there tumbled out of her mouth, but he folded his arms and waited for her to come to the point.

"… I had a pony named Sir Lancelot…My parents sent me to boarding school in Vermont when I was in the eighth grade, but I was so homesick they let me come home after the first semester…I was the captain of my tennis team…Would you like more tea?"

Ward put his hand over hers and said gently but firmly, "June, please, it's getting late. I have to work tomorrow morning, and I assume you do, too. Tell me what's going on."

She stood up and paced around the room for almost a full minute before turning to face him and blurting out, "My parents are coming to visit, and I need you to pretend you're Charlie and that we're married."

Stunned, Ward gasped, "What?"

"I need you to pretend to be Charlie. Only for a few days while my parents are here."

"Absolutely not!" he retorted hotly. Of all the reasons she could have for inviting him over tonight, he never would have dreamed it would be this. "I've never heard of anything so ridiculous in my whole life!"

Her blue eyes brimming with tears, June knelt down beside him, clasped his legs, and begged, "Please, Ward, it's important to me. You're the only man I know who can help me. Please, help me, Ward. _Please._"

Embarrassed by her outburst of emotion, Ward disengaged her from his legs and pulled her up on the sofa next to him. He handed over his handkerchief. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry." In a softer tone, he asked, "Why do you need me to impersonate Charlie? Better still, why does Charlie need impersonating?"

June didn't want Ward to see her cry so she busied herself folding and unfolding his handkerchief into a neat little square until her tears dried up. "Because I ran away."

"From home?"

"No," she sniffled, "from St. Paul, Minnesota."

Ward rubbed the back of his neck and blew out an impatient puff of air. "What were you doing in St. Paul, Minnesota?"

"After I graduated from high school, I went to live with my grandmother for a few months while she recuperated from surgery."

"In St. Paul?"

"No, Columbia, South Carolina."

Ward put his fingers to his lips to suppress another exasperated sigh and forced himself to keep quiet and let her tell the story in her own way.

"I had a job lined up at the country club," sensing his impatience she hastily clarified, "in Chicago, teaching children how to play tennis, but by the time I got back from South Carolina, war had broken out, and teaching kids tennis seemed silly and the job fell through. Later on, my sister, Pamela, wanted to join the Women's Army Corps, you know, the WACs."

Ward nodded, "Sure."

"Well, my parents were worried where she would end up if she joined the WACs so they encouraged her to take a job as a nurse's aide at a military rehabilitation hospital in St. Paul instead. A friend of theirs arranged it. I was at loose ends so they sent me with her to keep her out of trouble. Pam has always been more…um, prone to get into trouble than Peggy or I. Pam's not afraid of anything. So, I went with her, and before long, I was helping out at the hospital, too, passing out books, writing letters, stuff like that."

"And you met Charlie," Ward surmised.

"I met Charlie. Oh, Ward, he was so handsome and so nice, and he was the first man who ever paid any real attention to me. Pamela is the beautiful sister. I've always been too shy and too skinny. Once boys lay eyes on Pam, they forget about me."

Ward thought June was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her so while she gushed about Charlie.

"There was an accident on Charlie's ship. He was wounded in the hand. An engine he was working on blew up or something like that. It wasn't a life threatening injury, but there was some question as to whether or not he would be crippled. He was sent to St. Paul for surgery and rehabilitation in the hospital where Pam and I were working. I used to help him write letters to his mother. He doesn't want his mother worrying about him. He's such a good son."

Ward rolled his eyes and muttered, "I'll just bet he is."

June didn't notice his disdain. She giggled like the girl she essentially was. "Charlie used to ask me to sneak pictures of pin-up girls to his room. He was only teasing me, of course."

Another eye roll. "Of course."

"Anyway…we started spending a lot of time together. Walks and USO dances, the movies. After he regained full use of his hand, he was supposed to rejoin his ship, but for some reason, his orders kept getting pushed back so we were lucky to be able to spend even more time together. Then, he was ordered here, to San Diego, for more training."

Ward waited for her to go on, but there was only more handkerchief folding. "So, how did you end up in San Diego?" he asked carefully, not wanting to further upset her but wanting her to get on with the story.

"Before he left St. Paul, Charlie promised he would come back for me. He even gave me one of his medals. Charlie is a war hero. See?" June held out her wrist to show him a bracelet with a small bronze medal dangling from it. Ward recognized it as a Boy Scout honor medal, but said nothing. Criticizing Charlie would only make him look petty. "Charlie wrote to me about how much he loves me and about how lonely he was without me. He said he wanted me with him always, but he was ashamed because he comes from a poor family. He was worried my family might not like him. But, he said he had written to his mother and asked her to send him her wedding ring. I didn't know how much time we had, when he might get shipped out, and I thought he was asking…I thought we would…I pawned a pair of earrings and took a bus out here. I left my sister a note assuring her I was okay, but I didn't tell her where I was going. I told her I was eloping with Charlie and not to worry."

Her story set Ward back on his heels, and it took him a few moments to collect his thoughts. June didn't seem like the type of girl who would chase after a man. How could she run off to San Diego all alone to marry someone she barely knew who hadn't actually proposed? None of this made any sense to him, but his innate common sense took over, helping him to form some practical questions. "If you didn't tell anyone where you were going, then how is it your parents are coming to visit? Furthermore, if Charlie is overseas, then why do I need to pretend to be him? Serving in the military is a perfect excuse for his absence. You didn't have time to get married before he shipped out. I'm sure your family will understand."

"Ward," June replied in a strained voice on the verge tears again, "it's been very difficult for me here. Nothing has turned out like I thought it would. I don't have any friends. Trixie is nice to me, but we're not close. I called my sister, Pam, because I needed to hear a friendly voice. I didn't realize running away would upset everyone so much, but Pam is furious with me. She thought…I mean, she assumed that Charlie and I got married." After a beat, she said, "I let her believe it."

"You lied to your sister about getting married?!" Ward was beginning to distrust his own judgement. How could he fall for a girl who would lie about something as important as marriage?

June must have read his thoughts. "Ward, please, believe me," she pleaded, "I'm a good girl. I'm not normally a liar. It's just that I've been so terribly lonely, and instead of comfort from my sister, I got a lecture about being stupid. She accused me of being a naïve child and Charlie of being a cad. It isn't like that. I couldn't tell her he didn't marry me before he left. She'd think the worst. I know we'll get married as soon as he gets leave again, and it will all work out."

"What about your parents?"

"They're coming here to make sure I'm okay. I asked Pam to keep everything a secret, but she told them, anyway. I can't trust my own sister." The staggering irony of her last remark was lost on June but not on Ward, and she blithely continued, "My parents want me to come home, but I have to wait in San Diego for Charlie. He and Howard are going to open a boat repair business here after the war is over. I promised him I would be waiting for him when he got back."

The solution was so simple it was surprising she couldn't see it. "Okay, then, it's easy. Just tell them Charlie has shipped out." Privately, he breathed a sigh of relief. There was no need to get mixed up in this crazy mess.

Looking quite uncomfortable she said, "I already told them Charlie is still stateside."

"But, why, June? Why?"

"Because I thought my parents wouldn't come to visit if they knew they'd be horning in on my honeymoon, but I was wrong. They're coming anyway. If they find me living like this," she swept out her arms, indicating the rundown apartment, "and working in a diner, they'll drag me back home. I know they will."

"You lied to them," he declared sharply, a statement not a question.

"Yes, I lied." She lifted her chin and said defiantly, "I'm a grown woman. I should be able to live wherever I want and marry whomever I want."

"Grown women don't have to lie about such things." Ward was disappointed in June in so many ways, but he was still drawn to her like a magnet. He knew he was going help her with her harebrained scheme, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

Her eyes dropped for a second, then she looked up at him again, the defiant expression was still on her face, but her lips were trembling. "Will you help me or not?"

Get out while the getting is good, a voice screamed in Ward's head, but he picked up her hand and asked, "When are your parents arriving, Mrs. Stivers?"

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

"You're going to do what?" Nelson half yelled after Ward told him about the plan the next morning while they sorted the mail.

"Shh!" Ward hissed, "Keep it down!"

"Have you flipped your lid? Are you absolutely nuts?"

"Yeah, I'm absolutely nuts about June."

"So, you're going to get involved in a big lie," Nelson sneered, not bothering to hide his disgust.

"I tried playing it straight. Showing up at the diner every day didn't make her notice me. Asking her for a date didn't get me anywhere, either."

"It'll never work," Nelson gloomily predicted.

"We only have to pull it off for a few days. Afterward, her parents will go home satisfied that Charlie Stivers is taking good care of their precious daughter."

"Even if you manage to fool them, won't Christmas dinner be awkward when she shows up with the real Charlie?"

"Whatever happens at holidays and family get-togethers will be June's problem, not mine. But to answer your question, Nelson, you know this jerk is never going to marry her."

"Right," he agreed. "He's stringing her along." Nelson thought how lucky Charlie Stivers was to have a girl like June to love him and how unfair it was for Stivers to treat her like dirt. Unfair to June and unfair to himself because he'd probably never have a shot with a girl because of his crippled legs. Given an opportunity, he'd never treat a girl that way. He'd treat her like a queen. "Man, I'd like get him alone in an empty room for a few minutes. Just me, Charlie, and my baseball bat."

Ward playfully punched Nelson on the arm. "I get to have a go at him first, slugger."

"I still think it's a dumb idea."

"I knew you wouldn't approve. The only reason I told you about it is because I'm planning to come down with the flu this afternoon, and I don't want you showing up on my doorstep later with a pot of chicken soup and a thermometer."

"The flu?"

"June's parents will be here tomorrow. I thought the flu would be a good reason for me to be out of the office for a few days."

"Yeah, nobody's ever lied about having the flu so they can duck out on work before."

"Just keep it under your hat."

"Your secret is safe with me."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

"June, I've been thinking, this plan will never work."

After faking a coughing fit and the chills for his boss's benefit, Ward left work early to meet June at the park near the diner. Trixie was home taking a nap in preparation for her nightly carousing so they couldn't meet at the girls' place. June managed to sneak out of the diner with a couple of hamburgers and a big piece of lemon Bundt cake. They didn't have any silverware so they were taking turns breaking bites off the cake with their fingers. Happily stretched out on the grass under a tall shade tree, Ward was enjoying a rare evening meal that didn't involve a tin can and his hotplate.

"When your parents get here, tell them that I'm, that is Charlie, is away at training or confined to the base. If you want, I'll call you and speak to your father as Charlie. I'll assure him everything is fine and that you'll be well taken care of while I'm, Charlie, is overseas. Or better yet, head your parents off at the pass and tell them you'd rather come home for a visit. There's still time for them to cancel their flight." He smiled mischievously, "I can dig up enough money to buy my wife a train ticket home." A plane ticket was entirely out of the question, but if he sold an arm or a leg, he could swing a train ticket. For June's sake, he could do without a limb or two.

"Ward," she said wearily, tired of going round and round with him as well as herself about the absurdness of the plan, "I've already changed my story about Charlie twice. If I tell them yet another version, they will definitely know something is off. It's sweet of you to offer to pay for my ticket, but I can't go home. They would never let me come back. Besides, Dewey had a fit when I asked for some time off for my parents' visit. He'd never hold my job while I went to Chicago."

As much as Ward didn't want June to leave San Diego for his own reasons, he wasn't thrilled with the prospect of her staying, either. She deserved better than waiting tables in a cheap diner and living in a rattrap under Trixie's questionable influence while waiting around for a man who didn't love her. "Would not coming back be so bad?" He wanted her to say it would be bad because they couldn't be friends anymore, but naturally, her response had only to do with Charlie.

"I'm staying in San Diego until I can get in touch with Charlie and we can plan our future. Everything will work out once Charlie and I get things settled. I'm staying here and that's all there is to it."

"What, exactly, are you planning to tell them later on when they meet the real Charlie Stivers and he doesn't look a thing like the Charlie Stivers they met while they were here?"

June turned away from him and busied herself tossing crumbs of her leftover hamburger bun to the birds.

Ward ostentatiously tapped his watch. "I'm waiting."

"Look, I'm not sure, okay? I'll probably tell them it was a prank. They've always been too protective of me and my sisters. Pamela was somehow able to break free, but I've never been able to. They need to be taught a lesson. If they get angry, they'll just have to get over it. Once Charlie and I are married, none of it will make any difference."

"Don't you see it would be best to tell them the truth now? Just admit what you've done and have it over with. I'm sure they'll forgive you."

June stared off into the middle distance for a few seconds before answering cryptically, "It's too late for the truth."

"Okay. Fine." Arguing the merits of truth telling was getting him nowhere so he changed the subject. "You haven't said it in so many words, but everything you've told me about yourself from your pony to your boarding school to the country club leads me to believe your family is loaded."

"We're not loaded exactly, but," her tone held a note of self-consciousness, "I guess we're sort of well off. If you're worried my father won't like you, I mean Charlie because you don't have much money, don't. He served in the first war, and he has nothing but admiration for soldiers."

"That's not what I'm talking about. June, I don't mean to be unkind, but the second your parents see your apartment, you'll all be on the first flight back to Chicago. Mine's in much better shape, but it's obviously bachelor's quarters, and it's too small. Two of us would have to stand out in the hallway while we visit." He doubted Mrs. Crawford could be trusted to mind her own business, either. It wasn't difficult to envision Mrs. Crawford showing up at the wrong time and blowing their act sky high.

June held up her palm in a gesture of reassurance. "I've already thought of that, and we're in luck. The first floor apartments in my building are much nicer than mine, and I'm friendly with a lady who lives in one of them. She's out of town paying visits to her grandchildren for several weeks, and she asked me to look in on the place. Pick up her mail, water the plants, and such. We'll borrow her apartment for a few days."

"Borrow?" he snorted while licking cake crumbs off his fingers. "You mean trespass, don't you?"

"Don't be silly. She gave me the key. She'll never know the difference."

"What if we break something?"

"It's the two of us and my parents, not an army platoon. It'll be fine."

There was no point arguing with her about any of it. This was June's show. He was only along for the ride. "So what's the plan?" he asked after having run out of arguments against this preposterous charade.

"We'll pick them up from the airport tomorrow afternoon, make a quick stop at the apartment for coffee so they can get a look at where I live, then we'll settle them into their hotel. They have reservations at The Regency. We'll eat our meals out, visit a museum or two, go sightseeing. After convincing them that I'm safe and we're happily married, we'll put them on a plane home. They may not even come back to the apartment for the rest of their stay. It'll be easy, you'll see."

"Easy," he jeered, "I'll just bet."

June smiled her beautiful smile, put her hand on his arm, and squeezed. "Please, Ward, be a good sport. You don't know how much this means to me."

That smile accompanied by her touch melted him into a gooey mess. If June asked him to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge, he would happily take a swan dive. "Okay," he beamed back at her, "We'll make it work."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

After spending the morning making Bertha McArdle's apartment look more like their own, Ward and June went to the airport to pick up her parents. While they waited, Ward stewed over anything and everything that could possibly go wrong. After an eon passed, their flight arrived and the Bronsons appeared. June flung herself into first her mother's and then her father's arms while Ward hung back feeling in the way.

After another round of hugs and a jumble of simultaneous questions from her parents as to why she disappeared and eloped without telling them, all deftly sidestepped, June grabbed Ward's hand and pulled him to her side. "Father, Mother," she stated with grave formality, "this is Charles Stivers. My husband."

Ward had to give credit where credit was due. June let the falsehood trip off her tongue without so much as batting an eye. He mustered his best eager to please son-in-law's smile and took Mrs. Bronson's hand. Mabel Bronson was very petite, stylishly dressed, and a great beauty. June had inherited her mother's lovely blue eyes but not her dark hair or diminutive stature.

"How do you do, Mrs. Bronson? It's wonderful to finally meet June's parents." Smiling, she shook his hand warmly and insisted he call her Mabel, but Ward thought he saw something besides warmth in her eyes. Anger? Concern?

Ward turned his attention to Ronald Bronson, a tall, barrel chested man with a confident air and a deep voice that held a trace of a southern accent. Shades of South Carolina, Ward presumed. His hair was reddish blond like June's, but graying at the temples. It struck Ward that the Bronsons weren't really all that old. They probably weren't fifty yet. In his youth, fifty seemed ancient, but after serving in a war, Ward sometimes felt ancient himself. Fifty didn't seem so far away.

With a viselike grip, Mr. Bronson shook Ward's hand as if he were priming a water pump. He didn't ask Ward to call him Ronald so Ward stuck with Mr. Bronson. Like his wife, Mr. Bronson seemed genial, but the geniality didn't quite ring true. When Ward turned to help them with their luggage, Mr. Bronson gave Ward a thump on the back that sent him reeling. Pain sparked through Ward like tiny lightning bolts. He stumbled over Mabel's traveling case and went down on one knee. Mr. Bronson acted apologetic, but Ward knew the supposed friendly clap on the back was actually a thinly disguised act of aggression. Ward saw in the older man's eyes that he would have found taking a swing at him much more satisfying, but Mr. Bronson was too much of a gentleman to assault his daughter's new husband in public.

June knelt down beside Ward. "War- Charlie, are you okay?"

Mr. Bronson offered Ward his hand. "Sorry, my boy, I don't know my own strength."

Ward waved them off and got to his feet on his own. He laughed and made a show of dusting himself off and swallowed his anger by reminding himself that Mr. Bronson resented Charlie Stivers, not Ward Cleaver. Mr. Bronson had no way of knowing that his left shoulder was held together with baling wire and spit. "It's not your fault. I have two left feet." Ward summoned his strength, picked up the largest suitcase, and with much concealed effort, strode off to the taxi stand, leaving the others to catch up to him.

As Ward walked away, he heard Mr. Bronson mutter to his wife, "He doesn't look like Tyrone Power to me."

During the ride back to June's borrowed apartment, Ward rode in the front with the cabbie, and the three Bronsons squeezed into the backseat. On the way, Mabel filled her daughter in on all the hometown gossip. Nellie So-in-So was engaged. You'll never guess who Gail What's-Her-Name brought to the country club dance. Mary Sue Somebody dyed her hair red and it turned out bright orange…" Mr. Bronson stared out the car window lost in his own thoughts as if he was accustomed to girlish gibble-gabble and knew he wouldn't be asked to contribute to the conversation so he didn't bother to pay attention. Ward was relieved nobody paid any attention to him.

At Mrs. McArdle's, June took her parents quickly through the rooms, making sure they didn't linger in one spot long enough to be tempted to look into closets or drawers. Ward and June had tried to make sure that all of Mrs. McArdle's personal paraphernalia that couldn't be passed off as their own was safely stowed out of sight. Ward had his fingers crossed that a curious Bronson wouldn't sneak a peek into a bureau drawer and find a photographic version of Bertha McArdle and her nine grandchildren smiling up at them. Ward was ready to claim ownership, but mercifully, nobody commented on Mrs. McArdle's collection of clown figurines or the enormous fishbowl filled with assorted buttons in the center of the coffee table. The fishbowl was cleverly concealing a large dent in the table and thus couldn't be moved. June's parents sang praises about the 'cute little love nest' that couldn't possibly be heartfelt. Mabel clucked to and fro, happily offering decorating tips and suggesting things from home that she could send to June. Nothing Mabel recommended was beyond the means of a young married couple without much wherewithal. Ward liked her for this.

While the women were in the kitchen making coffee, Ward and Mr. Bronson sat in the living room idly chatting about how the war was getting along. Long ago, Ward noticed most civilians asked vague questions about the war and wanted vague answers, not the grisly details. Since the Seabees were a division of the Navy, Ward had little trouble keeping up Charlie's end of the conversation.

Mr. Bronson pulled a gold cigarette case out of the breast pocket of his suit and offered it to Ward. "Would you like one, Charlie?"

Given the stress of the day, Ward couldn't resist the lure of nicotine. "I've been trying to quit, but yes, I'd like one." Smoking was a habit he'd picked up in the Seabees. He never intended to start smoking. Any habit was too expensive for his meager budget, and some people claimed it was bad for you. However, there was something calming about having something to do with your hands while you waited, either for your superior to hand down your orders or for the enemy's onslaught. As a Seabee, Ward hadn't seen nearly as much action as the regular military, but he had seen plenty enough to last him a lifetime.

Mr. Bronson fished his lighter out of his pocket and lit their cigarettes. They both exhaled long, curling streams of smoke, and through the blue haze, Ward noticed Mr. Bronson watching him closely, a perplexed expression on his face. "Is something wrong?" Ward asked, wondering if he had somehow blown his cover without realizing it.

"Your hands. They're perfect."

Confused, Ward looked over his hands. Hardly perfect. They were regular hands just like everyone else's. "Yeah, so…"

"Pamela said you were wounded in the hand, the reason you were in the hospital in St. Paul."

Understanding dawned on Ward as he remembered June telling him about Charlie's injured hand. Thinking fast, he crushed out his cigarette and rolled up his shirtsleeve. He presented his left arm to Mr. Bronson, showing him the puckered scar from a rather superficial shrapnel wound located just below his elbow. "It wasn't actually my hand that was hurt. It was further up my arm, but it affected my grip for a while."

Mr. Bronson examined the scar, wondering exactly how this minor looking injury had nearly been crippling. "Looks like it has healed nicely."

"Yes, I was real lucky."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

The next couple of days went smoothly much to Ward's surprise and relief. June was right; it was fairly easy to keep her parents occupied. Mr. Bronson was a somewhat guarded man who let his wife do most of the talking. Mabel was far more interested in June than she was in Charlie. Ward found that if he kept his mouth shut, it was easy to be Charlie.

June worked hard to keep conversations light and airy, steering them back to safer waters whenever things became too serious or meaningful. She wanted her parents to have a pleasant visit, but she didn't want them to form an attachment to the fake Charlie. Finding out later that she had tricked them was going be bad enough. They would feel even more betrayed if they had become too personally involved with Ward after she married the real Charlie Stivers. Strangely, June felt herself forming an unexpected attachment to the fake Charlie. Ward was a fine gentleman and so good-looking. She loved the way his eyes twinkled when he smiled. Handsome, considerate, thoughtful; Ward Cleaver was going to make some fortunate girl a wonderful husband one day.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

Tiring of restaurant food and needing a respite from sightseeing, Mabel insisted on making lunch in June's apartment. This was precisely the type of thing Ward worried would happen. A quick cup of coffee was one thing, but preparing and eating meals and sprawling half the day on a stranger's furniture was a horse of a different color. What if they broke a clown or stained the rug or set the kitchen on fire? Since there was no logical excuse to refuse, Ward and June had no choice but to meet early in the morning for a run to the market to buy supplies. June and Trixie owned only a handful of mismatched plates and silverware, partially pinched from the diner by Trixie, so they were forced to use Mrs. McArdle's. Where in the world would they ever find replacements for her blue plates with a golden fleur-de-lis pattern around the rim if any got broken? By the time lunch rolled around, Ward's stomach was killing him. Was it possible to develop an ulcer in less than a week?

Lunch was almost finished and going blessedly well, so far nothing was in pieces or ablaze, when Mr. Bronson asked Ward what his plans were after the war was over. Concentrating more on not spilling or breaking anything than he was on what he was saying, Ward answered truthfully, "I'm working on a degree in business, concentrating on finance. My parents own a grocery store in Indiana, but I have no intention of returning home and running it as they would like." He shrugged, "If it wasn't for the war, I'd still be working in the store. I guess one good thing about the war is that it opened up new horizons for me. It got me out of Indiana."

"You're getting a business degree?" Mr. Bronson asked, obviously confused.

June kicked Ward under the table. "Tell Daddy about the boat repair business, darling."

"Ouch…um, I meant that I was working on getting my degree before the war started. My friend, Howard, and I are going to open a marine repair service here in San Diego after the war."

"Are you still planning to get a degree?" Mabel asked almost hopefully as if she'd rather June's husband be a businessman than a repairman.

Ward gave them a self-depreciating smile and joked, "I'm already a great mechanic. Now, I need to learn the business side of…of well, running a business."

Mr. Bronson launched into a lengthy question about how he couldn't keep the motor on his old fishing boat running. Ward's dad had an old boat, too. Whenever it wouldn't run, his dad always kicked the motor a few times and it always started right up. Kicking the motor didn't sound like advice from a professional so Ward was on the spot to think of something else. Assuming an air of expertise, he threw out some of the lingo he picked up around the shipyards while he was in the Seabees, having no idea what pertained to both enormous military ships and small fishing boats. He was saved when Mabel, bored with the subject of boat repair, asked about his family. Ward looked to June for guidance, but she gave none. Perhaps, she didn't know anything about Charlie's family, either.

Under the gun, Ward went with what he knew best – his own family. "As I said, my parents have a grocery store, about fifty miles away from in Indianapolis. They had five children. I'm the oldest. And, I have a younger cousin who has lived with us for the past couple of years. He's learning the ropes in the store, but he'll be old enough for the draft soon."

"Six children!" Mabel exclaimed, "I'll bet your mother stays busy! I could barely manage three girls with the help of a housekeeper. What do your siblings do? Are they in school? Do they work in the store?"

Suddenly uncomfortable and wishing he'd been quick enough to fabricate a backstory for Charlie, Ward tugged at his collar and took a sip of water before answering. The story of his life wasn't pretty, and talking about his siblings was a sure-fire way to bring down a room. "My cousin works in the store after school. I suppose he'll inherit it one day since I don't want it. I had a sister who died a long time ago of the German measles. I was very young when she died, and I don't remember her much at all." He always said this whenever anyone asked about his sister to take the presumed sting out of the question. The truth was he didn't remember her and there was no point in claiming sympathy when it wasn't deserved. "My mother caught the measles from my sister while she was expecting twins so two of my brothers were born mentally and physically deficient as a result."

"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry," Mabel murmured, hoping she hadn't upset the young man with her questions.

"The twins both died last year. They were never strong physically. Nicholas died last spring from a burst appendix, and Michael died last winter of pneumonia. My mother thinks Michael couldn't survive without Nicholas. And um, my brother, Wallace…" He took another sip of water to steady himself. "Wallace died last year, too. He was killed, a casualty of war."

Ward felt the familiar burn of hot tears in his eyes and knew he should have kept his personal life to himself. It was humiliating, but he was unable to talk about Wallace without getting emotional. Wallace had meant everything to him. Wallace was not only his brother, he was his closest friend. Less than a year apart in age, one was seldom without the other. They had always depended on each other during their tough childhood. He felt more connected to Wallace than to his parents. He and Wallace had an almost a physic ability to know what the other was thinking and feeling. They looked more alike than Michael and Nicholas, who weren't identical twins. His dad used to joke that Ward and Wallace were twins just like Michael and Nicholas, but Wallace was lazy and slept in for eleven months before coming out. Thinking of Wallace trapped in the belly of a burning, sinking ship was too painful for Ward to think about, let alone talk about.

Ashamed for opening this can of worms, Ward regarded the three stricken faces of the Bronsons through lowered, blurry eyes. They undoubtedly had no idea how to respond to his sob story. He couldn't blame them. Nobody ever knew what to say which was why he almost never brought it up, especially now that the story ended with three more deaths. Embarrassed by his tears and for making everyone feel uncomfortable, Ward quickly stood up, bumping the table with his knees, causing the dishes to rattle and Mrs. McArdle's ceramic salt shaker to tilt in a wobbly circle near the edge of the table. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I need to get some air." He practically ran out of the apartment without waiting to see if the salt shaker remained on the table or for a response from the others.

Ward took a long walk. After a strong cup of black coffee and some fresh air, he felt he could face June and her family again, but he returned to find Mrs. McArdle's apartment empty so he climbed the three flights of stairs to June and Trixie's place and knocked on the door.

"I was hoping you'd come back," June said when she opened the door. She looked genuinely happy to see him, surprising since he ruined her luncheon like rain at a baseball game.

"I'm sorry I spoiled lunch."

"You didn't spoil anything."

"Three dead brothers and a dead sister don't exactly make for light conversation over tuna salad sandwiches.

June reached up and rested her hand on his cheek. "I'm sorry, Ward."

He wanted to cover her hand with his and hold it there against his cheek. Instead, he moved his head away from her hand and dismissively patted her shoulder. "I know, but I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

June nodded, uncertain about whether or not to press the issue. She wanted to be his friend, and anyone who had lost all his siblings surely needed a friend. "Okay," she finally gave in.

"Where are your folks?"

"Back at the hotel. Mother wanted a nap before dinner. She seems kind of tired lately. I guess the trip out here must have been hard on her."

Conversation lagged and awkward vibes bounced around the room. Knowing he should offer some sort of explanation for his behavior, Ward said hesitantly, "June, I'm sorry I left so abruptly. It was rude of me. The thing is Nicholas and Michael and Mina...I don't mean to sound cold, but I was too young when my sister died to really miss her. And as far as Nicholas and Michael go, my mother wouldn't agree, but their passing was probably a mercy. Michael was totally deaf, and by the end of their lives, both of them were almost completely blind. Nicholas was able to talk some, but they were both severely retarded. They were always getting sick, and they lived a lot longer than the doctors ever expected. I love them, but not in the same way I love Wallace. I just can't discuss Wallace. It's too hard."

June touched his arm and looked into his eyes. "I would like to hear about Wallace. I would like to know him."

This time, Ward did put his hand over hers. He gave it a tender squeeze. "Not now, sweetheart, not today. Okay?"

"Okay," she said softly, feeling a little unexpected thrill when he took her hand as well as an unexpected pang of disappointment when he let it go. Ward had touched her often during her parents stay; taking her arm or guiding her along with his hand at the small of her back while they walked, but this wasn't for her parents' benefit. This wasn't for show, and it felt different. The odd feelings were gone as quickly as they had come, and more brightly she said, "My parents want us to have dinner with them at their hotel. Mother says they have a surprise for us."

Ward made a low whistle. "The Regency? Swanky! Whatever shall I wear? I'm afraid my top hat and tails are at the cleaners." June laughed merrily. He loved to hear her laugh and wished he could coax more laughs out of her. He couldn't make her laugh and act like a basket case at the same time.

"Just wear your best suit."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

Ward's best suit was hopelessly out of fashion and he felt like a rube just off the turnip truck, but once he saw June in her gorgeous strapless deep indigo gown that wasn't quite blue and wasn't quite purple, he knew it wouldn't matter what he wore because nobody would be looking at him. All eyes would be on her.

June stood much too close to him while she fussed with his tie. "I can't get the knot straight," she complained.

Ward breathed in gardenias and gallantly battled the urge to nuzzle her neck. The delicious looking hollow at the base of her throat was oh, so tempting. He wanted to put his lips right on that spot.

"What are you staring at?" she asked, an uncharacteristic sharpness in her tone.

"Hmm?" he murmured dreamily.

"Are you staring at the hole in my neck?" Her sisters had teased her unmercifully about her unusual looking neck her entire life and other kids had joined in with them as well, calling her Gorge Gullet. She thought she had grown out of the abnormality. Apparently, she had not.

"It isn't a hole. It's a hollow." A vast romantic difference separated a hole and a hollow.

"It's a hole, and I hate it!"

"It's a hollow, and I adore it."

Their debate was cut short when a honk announced their taxi's arrival. As June rushed off to grab her handbag, wondering if he was joking about adoring her ugly neck, Ward vowed to himself that one day, he'd buy her a nice necklace, a lovely string of pearls, to hide the hollow. The hollow was going to be his special spot for his pleasure only.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

Ward wasn't accustomed to hobnobbing with the uppity ups, but dinner at the fancy restaurant inside the fancy Regency Hotel with June's parents couldn't be going better. He was a fish out of water in such posh surroundings, but, as far as he knew, he hadn't done anything exceptionally gauche or made any horrendous faux pas. He may be a hick, but he was educated enough in the social graces to know not to wipe his mouth with the tablecloth and to watch the Bronsons when he wasn't sure which fork to use. With each passing hurdle, Ward was becoming more and more confident that he and June just might pull their phony marriage off after all. The food was superb, probably the best Ward had ever tasted, and nobody had asked him about his family, the war, or boat repairs. The awkward getting-to- know-you stage was coming to an end, and the atmosphere was pleasant and easy going. Ward almost felt like he was on a real date with his girlfriend and her parents, not playing a part. He was a bit anxious about the surprise June mentioned, though. He hoped the Bronsons weren't about to announce that they had commissioned a family portrait.

Ward was letting a deliciously decadent bite of chocolate chiffon cake melt in his mouth when June said, "Mother, the suspense is killing me. What's the surprise?"

Mabel's face lit up. She grabbed her husband's hand. "You tell them, Ronnie."

He shook his head. "No, my darling, the floor is all yours."

With breathless enthusiasm, Mabel started in, "Junie, you know how it's a family tradition for the women in my family to wear my grandmother's wedding veil when they get married." Mabel turned to Ward and explained, "My grandmother was married way back in 1862. Her four daughters all wore the veil, and later on me, of course. And my cousins and nieces. Not all of them, but most of them."

"Mother," June said with an apologetic tap on her mother's hand, "I know my elopement must be a disappointment to you. I'm sorry we didn't have a wedding so I could wear the veil." Maybe someday, when she and Charlie got married for real, she could figure out a way to wear the veil for her mother.

"That's the thing! I've, that is, your father and I, have arranged a wedding for you so you can wear the veil! That's your surprise! We kept it a secret because we weren't sure we were going to be able to get the veil in time. Your Aunt Lillian had it. She was supposed to send it to me before we left Chicago, but you know how she is. Anyway, it arrived here this morning by special messenger, and in the meantime, we've been able to get the wedding all set."

Shocked and fumbling for words, June replied, "Mother, no, War, uh, Charlie and I are already married. We were married by the Justice of the Peace."

"But it wasn't a proper church wedding. Junie, you know I've always dreamt of seeing you walk down the aisle, and now I can even if it isn't exactly real."

Not exactly real in more ways than one, Ward thought with growing alarm.

"Mother, we can't possibly…"

"Now, don't you worry; you won't have to lift a finger. It's all arranged."

Mr. Bronson broke in and explained, "You see, June, an old college buddy of mine, Jack Hollins, ended up becoming a Methodist preacher." He chuckled, "With his love for the ladies, it's hard to believe old Jack became a man of the cloth, but stranger things have happened. As luck would have it, he has a little church in Coronado. Since Coronado is so nearby, we asked him to plan a small wedding for you. His wife was thrilled to help. They do a lot of weddings there. Mrs. Hollins knows exactly who to call and how to get things done in a hurry."

"See, everything has worked out so perfectly," Mabel bubbled with delight, "it's as if it was all meant to be!"

"But, but…Charlie and I are already married," June stammered.

Mabel countered, rushing onward though her excitement was starting to flag in the face of June's reluctance, "Yes, love, but not in a church and not in my grandmother's veil. It'll be a simple affair, and you won't have to do a thing. We've ordered a few flowers and a cake. The hotel is going to cater the reception. And guess what? Your sisters are flying in! They'll be here Saturday in time for a nice dinner, sort of like a rehearsal dinner. Pamela's bringing Jonathan. We had Jonathan invite a few people he knows stationed here to help fill out the church. And Charlie can invite anyone he likes." She looked at Ward and smiled brightly, "Charlie, do you think you'll want to invite a lot people? If so, we'll have to order more food. But that's absolutely fine. The more the merrier I always say. What about your parents? It's short notice for them, but Ronnie and I would be glad to help with their travel arrangements."

That's just what he needed, Ward thought, was for his mother to get in the middle of this. "Thank you, but my parents can't leave the store."

"Oh, that's too bad!" With sudden inspiration she said, "You let us know when, and Ronnie and I will throw you a party in Indiana. We want to meet your family, too!" Mabel turned back to June, "Darling, the wedding is going to be such fun! There'll be dancing and champagne!

Ward and June exchanged panicky, near bugged-eyed looks. "No, Mother, we can't..._Really_, we can't."

Mabel's enthusiasm was swiftly dissolving into consternation and disappointment, her radiant smile morphing into a frown. Mr. Bronson suddenly stood up, visibly angry, but he tenderly gazed down at his wife and caressed her cheek with his fingertip for the briefest moment. He said, "Charlie, I left my cigarette case up in the room. Come with me to fetch it." A command, not a request. "We'll leave the ladies alone for a few minutes to hammer out the details."

Nervous about being alone with June's father, Ward unwillingly left the table with him. A curtly spoken "eight" to the elevator operator was the only word Mr. Bronson uttered on the way up, but he spun on Ward as soon as they stepped inside the room. Jabbing his finger into Ward's chest as he spoke, he said in no uncertain terms, "When we get back to the table, you're going to exert whatever husbandly pressure you possess on June to make her agree to this wedding."

Ward raised his palms in a conciliatory gesture and took a step back. "Mr. Bronson, June is her own woman. I'm not her jailor, and I'm not a bully. I won't try to force her to do anything she doesn't want to do."

"Charlie, I don't have all night to beat around the bush so I'm laying my cards on the table. Mabel is dying."

"Dying?" Ward gasped, completely taken aback by this revelation so matter-of-factly spoken. Mr. Bronson could have just as easily told him his wife was getting her hair done tomorrow.

"Dying. I apologize for putting it so bluntly, but I'm not one to mince words. Besides, I haven't yet learned to accept it myself. I'm afraid I'm far from mastering the art of discussing it with other people."

"But how can this be? I mean, she looks perfectly fine."

Mr. Bronson sadly shook his head. "Mabel looks fine, as beautiful as ever, but she's not. It's her heart. When Pamela told us about June running off with you, Mabel collapsed. After so many damn tests I'm surprised she isn't radioactive, the doctors told us her ticker is playing out. It's, it's…" he groped for the word, "congenital, a problem she was born with. Something is wrong with the structure of her heart. The doctors are astonished the problem wasn't discovered years ago. In the meantime, Mabel has confessed that she's known something wasn't right for quite some time. I wish she hadn't kept it to herself." He said with remorse, "There were signs. I should have been paying attention. I thought I knew every inch of her by heart, but somehow, I didn't notice the swollen ankles, and I thought the nagging cough she has developed was because of too many cigarettes."

"I'm so sorry. Isn't there something they can do?"

"They're trying medication, but still, they say it's only a matter of time. It's important she remains calm and rested. She may have one year, eighteen months if we're lucky. Or," he added so quietly Ward almost couldn't hear him, "it could be sooner." Mr. Bronson pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and brushed it across his misty eyes.

"Is there anything I can do? I want to help June and you and Mrs. Bronson, of course. I'll do anything."

"Yes, there's something you can do. Get down there and convince June to go through with the wedding her mother has planned."

"Mr. Bronson, I don't think –"

The big man erupted, "Son, I don't know why you and June are being so obstinate about this! How difficult could it possibly be to say a few vows and eat some cake with your family and friends? Look, I know the fuss over that moth-eaten old veil is an asinine female thing. I don't pretend to understand it, but it's important to Mabel. She has her heart set on it. What Mabel wants she's going to get."

"Mr. Bronson, it's up to June."

"Charlie, I've been married to Mabel for twenty-six years. We may not see twenty-seven, and if the doctors are right, we certainly won't see thirty. Thirty years may sound like an eternity to you, and in this day and age with so many young men dying before their time, thirty years _is_ an eternity, but I'm telling you, son, it isn't enough. A hundred years isn't enough when you love someone more than your own life. I'd die for that woman, Charlie. I would lay down my life in her place if I could, but I can't. What I can do is make sure whatever time my wife has left is happy. Peggy will probably never get married, and Pamela's been planning her wedding since she was a teenager. May god have mercy on my bank account, I expect nothing less than an extravaganza. She announced a long time ago she won't wear the veil. Frankly, the veil isn't suited for the royal wedding Pamela wants, but it's more than suitable for this tiny pseudo wedding for you and June. Most importantly, at this point, your wedding is the only game in town so stop dragging your feet!"

Ward took in the depths of anguish in Mr. Bronson's eyes. It couldn't be ignored. Knowing what he knew now, it was impossible to refuse. Mr. Bronson wasn't going to take no for an answer, anyway. "I'm sorry, sir, you're right. We'll go through with whatever you have planned. I'm sure June will agree."

Mr. Bronson's grave face brightened a fraction. "Thank you, Charlie, that's all I wanted to hear."

"When are you going to tell June about her mother?"

"We're not going to tell June and Peggy until we have to. Pamela is aware of the situation because she was there when Mabel collapsed, but Peggy was away visiting my mother her so she doesn't know. We wish Pam didn't have to be burdened with this, but she's made of stronger stuff than her sisters. Peggy's health is fragile, and June would fret. Mabel doesn't want anything to ruin June's happiness or make her worry right now. This should be the happiest time of her life."

"It's not fair to June and Peggy to keep it from them. Besides, Peggy lives with you. She'll know something is wrong."

"Mabel tires easily, but so far, you'd never know anything is wrong with her if you're not looking for it. She suffers from migraines so it isn't unusual for her to take to her bed. We'll blame it on the migraines as long as we can. We're debating sending Peggy back to South Carolina to stay with my mother if necessary. You see, Mabel's mother suffered from a long illness before she died. It was very hard on her family, especially Mabel. We don't want to put our daughters through the same thing. We want to them continue to lead their normal lives for as long as possible, something difficult enough to do with this damn war going on." His broad shoulders rose and fell in a hopeless shrug. "Or maybe, I want it kept secret for myself so I can pretend nothing bad is going to happen. Mabel may go quickly with a sudden heart attack or her heart may slowly continue to fail. If, if… Well, if it's the latter, of course, everyone will have to be told eventually. She's hoping for a sudden end. I don't know what I want, but we both agree we don't want the mourning period to begin before she's gone, especially not now."

"But, Mr. Bronson –"

"It's not your place to tell June about this. It's her mother's and my decision."

Ward nodded, "You're right, it's not my place. Definitely not my place."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

When the men returned to the table, Ward cheerily announced he thought the wedding was a great idea and thanked Mabel for coming up with it. June stared at him as if he had gone stark raving mad, but didn't argue. Ward didn't have the foggiest idea as to what they were going to do about the wedding, but he knew he couldn't solve the problem tonight so he painted an affable smile on his face, determined to make this a nice evening for Mrs. Bronson's sake. As he tucked back into his cake, Ward hoped the family fireworks were over, but there was something in the air between Mr. and Mrs. Bronson. Too many loaded looks were passing between them for his comfort. He was eating June's piece of cake when the bombshell finally exploded.

"Junie, we told you about our surprise. Don't you think it's time for you to tell us yours?"

June regarded her mother blankly, "Mine?"

"Darling, don't push."

"Ronnie, there's no reason to hide it any longer."

"Hide what?" Ward asked between bites of chocolatey heaven, the confection momentarily making him forget about his upcoming nuptials.

"Oh, you know," Mabel replied coyly with a cat that ate the canary smile. "Ronnie and I have been waiting for you to tell us since we arrived."

"Mother, I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Mr. Bronson snapped with impatience, "is this game going to go on the rest of the evening? June, Pamela let the cat out of the bag. We know you're expecting a baby."

Ward began to choke on his dessert, and Mr. Bronson walloped him soundly on the back. Ward saw stars as June dropped her napkin and ran from the table. Mabel rose to follow her, but Ward recovered in time to take her arm and gently guide her back into her seat. He caught his breath and drained his snifter of brandy before heading after June.

The pieces of the puzzle began to snap into place at dizzying speed. Now, Ward understood why June was so desperate to present her husband to her parents in person. She needed a man to make an enduring physical impression on her family to cut off any questions later. He understood why her parents had insisted on coming to California, even at the risk of interrupting their daughter's last few days with her husband before he shipped out. They needed to see for themselves that June was safe and healthy. And, he understood why the Bronsons were adamant June not be told about her mother. They didn't want anything upsetting their daughter's delicate condition.

Ward caught a glimpse of June rushing through a door off the lobby and blindly barged in after her. Indignant gasps met his entrance. "Young man!" an old crone wheezed with outrage, "this is the ladies lounge!"

Before June could lock herself in a stall, Ward unceremoniously yanked her out. "We have to talk!"

He was met with a chorus of opposition from the various women in the room who immediately surrounded June to protect her from the male interloper until a blonde bombshell, reminiscent of Trixie, dressed in a crimson gown with a curl falling over one eye a la Veronica Lake, stepped out of a stall.

She slithered up to Ward and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "What can we do for you, big fella?"

Suddenly embarrassed at having so impulsively invaded forbidden territory, he spluttered, "I need to speak with my…I need to speak with June."

The bombshell turned her reptilian gaze to where June stood frozen, perfectly playing the role of prey. "Is this June?" Ward nodded, and she held June with a long, appraising look much like a venomous snake trying to decide whether or not to strike. After a few seconds, she said, "Come on, ladies, let's give Romeo and Juliet a little space." She gave the old crone, who was slow taking her leave, a push out the door. "Let's go, grandma." She looked over her shoulder at Ward and slowly closed one eye in a sexy wink. "Don't worry; I'll stand guard."

"Are you really going to have a baby?" Ward asked the second they were alone. June nodded her head and began to sniffle. He shook her by the shoulders. "Don't start that," he ordered sternly. "We don't have time." He immediately softened when he was hit full force by her frantic blue eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked lovingly. "Have you seen a doctor?" With rising amazement that June was in such a predicament, he demanded, "Why didn't you tell me? Why did you tell your sister? Why did she tell your parents?" He had suspected all along that there was more to this than June was letting on, why else would she go to such great lengths to pull a trick on her family that didn't have a prayer of working out, but because he loved her and because he wanted, for once in his life to be the hero, he had turned a blind eye to his suspicions. The realization that he had willingly, almost enthusiastically, involved himself in an unending torrent of lies made his head spin.

June took a deep, shuddering breath and swallowed her tears. Ignoring his stream of questions, she said in a small, shaky voice, "I only told Pam I thought I might be. I didn't think she'd tell. She promised she wouldn't. Since my parents didn't say anything about it immediately…" June clutched the lapels of his suit and pleaded, "Ward, I'm sorry I've dragged you into this, but please, don't give me away. Not now. Please, not now. I need some time to think, to come up with something to –"

"I won't give you away," he interrupted gallantly, his heart doing the thinking instead of his brain. He wasn't Ward Cleaver anymore. Ward Cleaver would never do anything like this. He was a stranger, even to himself.

"You won't?"

"Absolutely not," he swore with false bravado and pulled her into his arms. He wanted to kiss her, but she wasn't his to kiss. The dopey in love side of his brain didn't care about the ramifications of fake marriages or babies or June being in love with someone else, but the rational side of his brain demanded to know what the hell he had gotten himself into.

A sharp knock followed by the smoky voice of the bombshell interrupted any further thoughts kissing June. "Hurry up, lovebirds! The natives are getting restless. The call of nature can't be ignored much longer."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

The evening that started out so promising staggered to an awkward conclusion. The Bronsons didn't know what to say to their daughter and son-in-law who clearly weren't on cloud nine about the pregnancy. Mabel tried and failed to engage June with talk of due dates and baby supplies. Meanwhile, Ward and Mr. Bronson stared glumly at each other over more brandy. Eventually, Mabel gave up and pronounced herself ready to retire for the night. Mr. Bronson was all too happy to ask for the check.

Ward saw June home in an equally awkward and glum cab ride. He wasn't sorry he promised to stand by her, baby and all, but he couldn't help but think he'd bitten off more than he could chew. How were they going to get out of this wedding? How could he claim a baby that wasn't his even if it was only temporarily?

After the cab dropped them off in front of June's seedy apartment building, Ward insisted on walking her to her door. They met Trixie stumbling down the last flight of stairs with her latest paramour, either finishing up a toot or continuing one. Trixie gave Ward an ostentatious once-over with an appreciate eye and gave June a thumbs up. "Not bad, June," Trixie said, "Not bad at all."

June ignored Trixie and steered Ward toward Mrs. McArdle's apartment instead of upstairs to her own. "Can you stay a while? I want to talk to you."

Inside, Ward put his hands in his pockets and waited for her to start. He absolutely couldn't stomach any more secrets or lies so he hoped this wasn't going to turn into a confessional. He had spent the ride home turning her problem over and over in his mind. He had already decided he was going to keep his word and help her no matter the cost. He was in love with June, simply and hopelessly. He wasn't an impulsive person. Wallace used to rib him about being too thoughtful and slow. Always look before you leap was Ward's motto, but June was the exception to the rule. Ward loved her from the moment he met her at the diner. If it wasn't quite real then, it certainly was now after spending the past few days with her. June was smart and kind and beautiful, but there was something else. Something that made her different from all the other girls who were also smart, kind, and beautiful. He couldn't explain what this extra something was, but it was real and it was powerful. More than attraction. More than desire. He loved June more with each passing second, and a baby didn't change his feelings for her.

"I know you thought this was sort of a harmless joke, but it's gotten out of hand, gone way beyond what you thought it was…what I led you to believe. I'm sorry. I won't hold you to this."

"I told you at the hotel I'm not backing out."

"But Ward, I never expected my parents to arrange a wedding! How can we possibly take vows in a church in front of God? And what about the baby?"

Ward took her hands, drew them close to his chest and said, "People all over the world are dying by the thousands. I don't think God cares much about what we do one way or the other. The baby doesn't have to change anything." Loath to bring up Charlie during this emotional moment with her, he forced himself to ask, "Does Charlie know?"

She pulled her hands from his and stepped away from him. "No, he doesn't. I was going to write, but… Oh, Ward, what you must think of me!"

"Baby, there's a war going on. Everything has been turned upside down, and a lot of people are doing things they never thought they'd do. Sometimes, things like this just happen."

"I'm a good girl, Ward! I've always been a good girl! I never should have followed Charlie here."

"You didn't follow him because you were," he wavered, uncomfortable talking about her relationship with Charlie let alone a pregnancy, "in the family way?"

"No, we had never… I wasn't in…in…trouble when I came to San Diego. I followed after him because he said he loved me. I thought he wanted to marry me. But when I got here, he was different. Charlie was harder somehow, not the sweet boy I knew in St. Paul. He told me I should go back home, that I was still a kid. I thought he was pretending to be tough because of his friends. I tried as hard as I could to fit in, to prove I wasn't a kid. One night, I had a too much to drink."

Mixing alcohol with inexperienced girls and experienced men tended to lead to one thing. Ward didn't want to hear June's version of this age-old tale, but he didn't stop her from telling it. Morbid curiosity wouldn't let him stop her.

"One night, we went to a bar with Howard and Trixie. I'd been to a few nightclubs with Pam and her friends for dinner and to listen to music, but never to an actual bar before. I'm not of legal drinking age yet, and Daddy's always been really strict about us girls not drinking. Not that it ever stopped Pam, but I've always tried to follow the rules. So, I really hadn't had anything to drink at all, except some champagne at a friend's wedding once, but I didn't want Charlie to know that. I didn't want him to think I was still a dumb kid. I wanted him to see me as an adult. We started drinking these tropical drinks with cute little umbrellas. They tasted like punch. I didn't realize they were going to my head. Later, Howard borrowed a car, and we drove around until we found a secluded spot. Howard and Trixie went for a walk, but Charlie and I stayed in the car. In the backseat."

June reddened with shame as she remembered how Charlie had kissed her and how his hands had found their way under her blouse to her breasts. She had never been touched in such ways before, erotically, lustfully. Her head fuzzy with alcohol, she had been unable, and if she was completely honest, reluctant to stop him until she suddenly found herself splayed across the backseat, her skirt bunched up to her hips, under his thrusting body. By the time she realized it wasn't what she wanted, that it was all wrong, it was far too late.

Later, during a conversation with Trixie, June learned Trixie and Howard had deliberately left them alone so what happened could happen. "I'm sorry, honey," Trixie said, "that Howard and I came back so soon, but Howard's friend wanted the car back by midnight. So, how was Charlie?" she asked with lurid interest, "Good? Did he live up to his movie star looks?"

"I don't know…I guess," June managed to say before bursting into tears.

"It wasn't your first time, was it?"

June nodded her head miserably.

Trixie put her arm around June's shoulders. "Oh, honey, you shoulda made Charlie spring for a hotel room instead of that smelly old car. Next time, hold out for a room or let me know ahead of time and I'll make myself scarce around here. Take my advice and make him work for it a little bit, you know what I mean? A nice dinner, maybe a trinket or a pair of stockings. No sense giving it away for free, right? And make sure he always pulls out. _Always._ No matter what he says. No arguments."

"Pulls out?" June asked with mystified innocence.

Trixie rolled her eyes, exasperated by June's naiveté. Honestly, June was greener than a salad. By the time she was June's age, she was an expert. In fact, she prided herself on her sexual knowledge. It was how she managed to stay out of trouble and still have a good time. Some girls were book smart. She was sex smart which was a subject a lot more fun to study than what you could learn from a boring old schoolbook. Hands on experience so to speak. "Pulls out, _you know_, before he comes. Or make him wear a rubber. But most guys don't like them so if he won't use a rubber, make him pull out. The last thing you want is to get in trouble."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

Conflicted feelings of born of guilt and shame made June avoid Charlie for several days. When he dropped by the diner to ask her out dancing, she lied and said she had to work the night shift to cover for a girl who was sick. Citing a headache, she skipped out on a double date with Trixie and Howard. June knew what she had done was wrong, terribly wrong, but she and Charlie loved each other. Shouldn't their love count for something? Why wait when the whole world was at war, and Charlie might get sent overseas for months or years? On the other hand, nice girls didn't do what she did, and she couldn't let it happen again. Never again, June swore to herself, not until they were married.

When Charlie showed up at her door with flowers and candy and his Tyrone Power smile, June couldn't resist letting him in even though Trixie wasn't home to chaperone. "Hey, June Bug," he sang airily and handed her a bunch of daisies. "I'm sorry about the other night. Trixie said you're giving me the cold shoulder because you're mad about the car."

The thought of Charlie discussing their private matters with Trixie was nauseating. Is this how people treat something so special and intimate? Did Charlie stop by the diner the next day to tell Trixie all about having sex with her over a cup of coffee? Was Howard in on it, too?

Ill at ease, June put the daisies in a glass of water and did her best to avoid eye contact with Charlie, but he wouldn't be ignored. He took her in his arms and gave her a tender kiss that reminded her of the sweet Charlie from St. Paul, the Charlie who took her to the movies and out for ice cream sundaes. When his hand slid up to her breast, she pushed him away. "Don't do that, Charlie."

He tore open the box of candy, tossed a piece in the air, and nimbly caught it in his mouth. "Aw, come on, June Bug," he whined around the candy, "don't be that way. I came over to tell you we're shipping out soon. Last time, it was the Atlantic. This time, the scuttlebutt is we're off to the Pacific to teach those Japs a thing or two. After today, I'll be confined to the base until we leave. It's our last night together. So, come on." In swift, practiced motions, he lobbed the box of candy onto the sofa, caught her tight with one arm, and kissed her hard while trying to unbutton her dress with his free hand.

June pushed him away, more forcefully this time, and nervously fumbled to rebutton her dress. "Charlie, I said don't."

"Didn't you hear me say it's our last night? I know Trixie's out with Howard so we have the place all to ourselves. Which bedroom is yours?"

A good looking sailor like him could have just about any dame in San Diego. Shirley, for instance, the sea gull he was with last night, really knew how to show a man a good time. So why was he wasting his precious time on a skittish girl like June on his last night on the loose in civilization? She was a nice kid, exactly the type of girl his ma always bugged him to bring home for dinner and marry someday. Marriage! Hah! No way was ol Charlie gonna walk the plank. How a guy could settle down with just one girl when there were so many tasty treats in this great, big world was beyond him. Back in St. Paul while his hand was swollen as big as a pumpkin and hurt like hell, and afterward, while he was spreading the invalid routine on thick for his doctors to avoid getting sent back to the firing lines, June was good company and fit right in with his angelic image. Here in San Diego, where it didn't matter what he did because he was going to ship out soon whether he liked it or not, the possibilities were endless, and June was dragging him down like an anchor.

Usually, breaking in a new filly was fun, but he was short on time, and June had turned out to be a waste of time. There were easier and far more pleasurable ways to get his kicks. He shouldn't have laid on so much boloney in his letters to her once he got transferred to San Diego. He was only trying to do a good deed and give the kid a thrill. How was he to know she'd show up on his doorstep? But since June was in San Diego anyway, he thought with her away from her sister, the sister he probably should have made a play for instead, a good time could be had by all. A miscalculation he had to admit, but June was a beauty and her immaturity was kind of cute. If she was still on the hook when he got back from stomping some yellow ass, he'd have a fine time teaching her some new tricks. His ma would like June, too, which made her more attractive than the average skirt. Nowadays, when he wrote his ma about his nice girlfriend, it wasn't a lie, and that made him feel pretty damn good about himself.

The color drained from June's face. "I can't do what we did that night again."

"What do you mean you can't? Come on, June, stop acting like a spoiled brat. Time's a wasting."

"I had too much to drink, and everything happened so fast…I didn't know what I was doing…"

Like a crack of a whip, his hand lashed out and locked on the collar of her dress. He hauled her face up to his. Rage emanated from him in waves. "What are you saying? Are you trying to say I made you?"

Terrified he was going to hit her, June whimpered, "No, Charlie, that's not what I meant."

"You wanted it, didn't you? Say you wanted it, June. Say you wanted me. Say it!"

"I, I wanted you, Charlie."

"Okay, that's better." He abruptly released his grip causing June to stumble backward and land hard on her bottom. His anger vanished as quickly as it had come, and his sunny demeanor returned instantly as if the anger was only a trick of her imagination. He sat down on the floor beside her and took her hand. "Oops, you tripped. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she answered cautiously, not wanting to antagonize him any more than she had already. Charlie had never acted like this before, so aggressive and intimidating. He was normally happy-go-lucky. She replayed the last few minutes in her mind, wondering what she had done wrong. The complicated workings between men and women were new territory to her. Maybe, she had crossed an invisible line. Maybe, she shouldn't have questioned what happened the other night. Maybe, once you've made love to a man, you can't refuse to do it again if you want him to continue to love you. June couldn't think with him so close to her so she tried to put some distance between them without making it obvious, but he edged right along with her and wrapped his arm firmly around her waist to hold her in place next to him.

"Aw, June Bug, I'm sorry I got a little upset, but I had to get your attention. My ma was like that sometimes. She just wouldn't listen, and my pop had to make her listen. Pop used to say when a woman won't pay attention, a man has to make her pay attention. You shouldn't have made it sound like you didn't want to be with me. A girl back home did that, tried to say that I rap- that I forced myself on her. That's why I'm in this mess."

"Mess?"

"In the Navy. Stuck in this damn war."

"But you said you enlisted."

"I enlisted because that lying broad was threatening to go to the cops." Charlie felt her go rigid and kicked himself for bringing up that bitch from back home. The bitch was still screwing up everything. He quickly changed his manner to one of a put upon schoolboy. "What I mean is, I would have never…we would have never…but we were going to get married so it was okay, but her family turned her against me. They hate me because I'm from the wrong side of the tracks. Her father owns half the town and her uncle is the mayor. There's no way I would've got a fair shake. Some women, you give them what they're begging for then they turn on you for giving it to them. If it wasn't for her, I'd be safe at home instead of a torpedo target. My pop was killed in a car crash a couple years ago, see? His car skidded on some ice and hit a tree. The insurance company refused to pay up because they claim he was drunk. My pop barely had a drink in his whole life and they say he was drunk! My ma was left with nothing but his small pension to raise my four kid brothers and sisters on. I had a job in a factory, and there was a good chance I could've got a deferment because I was supporting them, but I had to get outta town so the heat would die down. Now, Ma has to work like a dog cleaning houses. She works very hard and she gets sick a lot. I send almost all my pay back home so they won't go hungry. I worry about them all the time. If something happens to me, I don't know what they'll do."

Charlie proceeded to tell her how terribly he was mistreated by the girl and her family, the only girl he ever loved until June, and how horrible the war is and how concerned he is about his mother. His eyes got watery and he began to snuffle into his shirtsleeve. June took him into her arms and tried to comfort him. He quickly turned the embrace into something more torrid until once again, she found she had let him go too far. June tried to get free from his iron grip, but Charlie told her they were beyond the point where a man could stop so she lay perfectly still until he rolled off her. He gave her a playful, but hard, swat on the rear. The sharp echo of it rang through the silent room. "This would be a lot more fun if you would loosen up. Strictly iceberg. You need to thaw out. Don't worry; when I get back, we'll have all the time in the world to practice. You know what they say, practice makes perfect." Fat tears began to roll down June's cheeks. She turned her face into the ratty rug so Charlie wouldn't see.

They lay on the floor while Charlie smoked a cigarette and June wept soundlessly into the rug. Eventually, he put his arm around her and pulled her close. "Don't cry, June Bug, I know you want a nice night out, but there just isn't time tonight for all that soft soap. A man has needs, you know? And a guy has a right to be taken care of by his girl, especially when he's going off to war. How would you feel if I got killed after you gave me the brush off? Listen, when I get back, we'll go out on the town and do it up right. Paint it red! And, I'll take you home so you can meet Ma. She's always wanted me to bring home a girl like you. She'll flip! I might skip partnering up with Howard and buy that boat I'm always talking about and we'll sail down to Mexico, just you and me. The sky's the limit for us! But, June, you really shouldn't be such a tease. It's not fair to get a guy all fired up and then try to douse the flames just as the fire gets burning hot. Speaking of burning hot…"

Charlie began to paw at her, and then, he unexpectedly took her again, quickly in a savage surge of passion. June didn't think it was supposed to be this way. Shouldn't it be loving and sweet? She knew it was supposed to hurt, that's what she'd learned in whispered conversations at school with older girls who somehow knew what they were talking about, but was it supposed to be as bad as this? She wanted to beg Charlie to stop. Why couldn't he just hold her close without all the rest? She wanted it to be over, but no matter how much it hurt, she didn't try to make him stop. She shouldn't be a tease, and Charlie had his needs. They'd get married after he came back so it really wasn't so bad to give in now. After they were married, they would have more time, and it wouldn't have to be so rushed. Yes, it would be better after they got married.

When Charlie was finished with her, he stood up, buttoned his pants, and pulled her to her feet. If he hurried, maybe he could catch Shirley again tonight and have some real fun. "Okay, I've got to go. I want you to write me every day. Promise me."

"I promise."

He scooped her up and whirled her around in a circle. "I can't wait to get back to you, June Bug! I'm just plain crazy about you! Promise me you'll wait for me. Promise me you're my girl forever."

June felt branded by him and couldn't possibly imagine being anyone else's girl. "I'm your girl forever, Charlie," she swore to him earnestly. "I promise I'll wait. I swear I will."

After June shut the door behind him, she heard Trixie saying, _And make sure he always pulls out. Always. No matter what he says. No arguments._

A few days later, a delivery boy showed up at the apartment with a big box of supplies. Sugar, butter, tins of meat and vegetables, chocolate bars, and two pairs of silk stockings – everything difficult to find because of rationing. Included was a love note from Charlie, declaring his undying devotion to her and pleading for her to always be his girl. June's heart melted. Charlie was a good man. He wasn't like the boys from Chicago because he wasn't brought up the same way. Charlie was rough around the edges, but she was confident she could smooth them out. They would get married soon and she would always be his girl.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

The fact that she was standing there telling a man she barely knew about losing her virginity in the backseat of a car was unfathomable to June. Then again, she couldn't believe she had lost her virginity in the backseat of a car in the first place. It should have been on her honeymoon. If only she'd made Charlie stop. If only she'd had listened to Trixie. If only she hadn't blurted out her secrets to Pamela. If only.

Ward was at a loss for words. He knew _it's going to be okay_ was a useless platitude, but he said it, anyway, as he patted her shoulder. "June, it's going to be okay."

She fully expected Ward to condemn her for her loose morals, to shout at her for involving him in her disgraceful situation, to tell her she got what she deserves. Sympathy was the last thing she expected from him, and it destroyed her. She crumpled into him like a rag doll. Ward led June over to the sofa and gathered her to him. He waited for the dam to break, but the tears never came so he held her until she fell asleep.

Later, Ward's back begged him to get up and stretch, but he wouldn't move a muscle for the world. He ever so gently traced the lengths of June's thin, delicate fingers and marveled at how easily he could circle her wrist with his hand. A gentle, ethereal creature like June deserved to be cherished and protected. He would do this he vowed. He would cherish her and protect her, but as he sat there on a stranger's sofa holding the world in his arms, he wondered if fixing her problems was remotely possible. Even if the war didn't do him in, Charlie wasn't coming back, not to June at least. What would happen to her? She was rail thin, but she couldn't hide being pregnant forever. After that, there was no way she could continue to work at the diner, and he was in no position to financially provide for her. He agreed to her with her scheme because he wanted to be her knight in shining armor, but he felt like a useless dope.

While June slept on, Ward considered telling her father the truth. Surely, a baby on the heels of a sudden marriage to a man they had never met would have raised some eyebrows. Maybe, her parents suspected the truth and this is actually why her mother collapsed. Would the country club set swallow a story of a husband killed in action? Or a divorcee?

He also played with the idea of going home to work in the grocery store and taking June with him. Life as a grocer would make him miserable and likely, June would be, too, but it would be better than the stigma she'd have to live with as an unmarried mother. Her reputation would never recover from it and her life would be ruined. Both she and her child would be social outcasts. His parents wouldn't be a problem. His mother would be too overjoyed about his homecoming to bother about June. His perpetually good-natured father had love and compassion for one and all. Even if he didn't quite believe their story, his dad would accept June and the baby as Cleavers, no questions asked.

In a bit of irony, Ward's parents had had a shotgun wedding of their own. Ward knew this from eavesdropping on a conversation between his father and his Uncle Anton, his mother's brother. From what Ward could piece together, his father and Anton Krasnoff were buddies who were discharged from the Army at the same time after being wounded in a poison gas attack during the Great War. His dad went to New York to stay with Anton's family under the guise of further medical care instead of returning home to the family farm. His dad and uncle's sly laughs and pointed banter told Ward the desire to sow some wild oats was the real reason his dad didn't immediately go home. The Krasnoffs owned a general store in a Brooklyn neighborhood heavily populated by Russian immigrants. Ward, Sr., or Cleav, as he was known, worked in their store in exchange for a cot in the storeroom. It wasn't long before Cleav and Mr. Krasnoff's only daughter, Irina, began keeping company. One evening after closing hours, Mr. Krasnoff paid a surprise visit to the store only to find Cleav and Irina in a compromising position in the storeroom; whereupon, Mr. Krasnoff strongly suggested Cleav marry Irina, if he valued his life.

Ward had no reason to believe his mother was pregnant at the time since he didn't arrive until over a year after the wedding. Plus, judging by the Krasnoff side of the family's old world traditions and superstitions, Cleav and Irina could have been holding hands or playing checkers and the result would have been the same. Wanting to get away from Brooklyn, not to mention his new father-in-law, Cleav jumped at the chance when he heard that friends of Mr. Krasnoff were selling their grocery store in Indiana and moving back to Brooklyn. And the rest, as they say, is history. It was this knowledge about his parents that gave Ward hope. His parents loved each other; he had no doubt about this. Cleav was besotted by Irina and her peculiar ways, and Irina, sour to the rest of the world, lit up around Cleav. If his parents could make a quickie marriage last, so could he and June.

The next morning, Ward woke alone, half on and half off Mrs. McArdles's sofa. His back was killing him and the afghan June must have covered him with before she left reeked of cigarette smoke, but having June only a few flights of stairs away was invigorating. He instantly forgot the aches and pains caused by a night at an odd angle on a lumpy sofa. Seeing June first thing in the morning was a temptation almost too powerful to resist. Ward wanted to surprise her with breakfast in bed, he could make a mean bowl of oatmeal, but he had to get going. He was to spend the morning with Mr. Bronson, shopping for a suit for the wedding, while June and her mother shopped for a wedding dress. Last night, Mabel had bemoaned the fact that the impromptu wedding meant that the suit and the dress had to be bought off the rack. Having little experience with fashion, his mother usually remade his father's old suits to fit him, Ward was silently bemoaning the fact that he was going to have to conjure up a new suit, when Mabel suggested he and Mr. Bronson go shopping together. Mr. Bronson obviously knew his way around a closet, and Ward sincerely hoped he could help him find appropriate wedding attire so he wouldn't embarrass June or her family at the wedding. The wedding! Was there really going to be a wedding? How in hell were they going to get out of it? He did not know. Since Ward couldn't afford to show up in the same clothes he wore to dinner last night and it certainly wouldn't do to be late for an appointment with his brand new father-in-law, breakfast with June was sadly out of the question.

The wedding party was set to stay in a ritzy hotel in Coronado even fancier, as difficult as it was to believe, than The Regency. Ward and Nelson were to meet the Bronsons there tomorrow night for dinner. The dinner was an event Ward anticipated with dread. June's sister, Pamela, had actually met Charlie once in St. Paul. June introduced Charlie one evening while Pamela was preoccupied getting ready for a date. Pam was in a tizzy because her hair wasn't cooperating and she had a run in her only pair of stockings. Pam's encounter with Charlie only lasted a few minutes, and June was firmly convinced her sister had been far too engrossed in herself to remember Charlie clearly.

Also in their favor, June maintained, Pam and Charlie met months ago during the winter. It was a frigid, nasty night and Charlie had been wearing a heavy coat with a woolen scarf wrapped around his neck and his hat pulled down low on his head. Both Ward and Charlie had dark hair and eyes. Ward could have been there just as easily as Charlie. June remembered the night because Charlie had been angry with her. They quarreled because she had taken too long getting ready to go while he was all bundled up and sweltering in the apartment's heat. Her feelings were hurt because she felt it was such a little thing. After all, he could have taken off his coat and hat while he waited for her. But then again, she had been running late so it was technically all her fault and Charlie had good reason to be mad.

Ward thought Pam not recognizing Charlie was far too much to hope for, but one time, Wallace's girlfriend had fallen into a manhole because she was too busy making cow eyes at him to notice the warning signs around the hole so maybe it was possible Pam wouldn't recognize Charlie. It was possible, Ward conceded, but highly unlikely.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

Carrying battered, dilapidated suitcases, Ward in his old out of style suit and Nelson, looking unusually dapper decked out in blue pinstripe, arrived fashionably late for dinner with the family because they missed the ferry over to Coronado. As soon as the doorman showed them through the door at the hotel, Ward wanted to catch the first ferry back to San Diego. Not only was the prospect of meeting June's sisters intimidating, Ward found the hotel itself intimidating. He didn't belong in a place like this. Was it his imagination or was everyone, employees and guests alike, staring at him and Nelson like they were something the cat dragged in?

Ward handed off their luggage to a bellboy and stood for a minute taking it all in. He had hit beaches as a Seabee with less adrenaline pumping through his veins than tonight. Nelson wasn't helping. Nelson was walking around in a pop-eyed daze, taking in the opulence as if he were in an exotic zoo. If Ward hadn't stopped him, Nelson would have actually reached out and touched a woman's ostrich feathered dress. Forgetting about Nelson's handicap, Ward practically dragged him through the hotel to the restaurant, almost pulling poor Nelson off his feet. Ward gave Nelson a short, but stern, lecture about being on his best behavior and not giving away the Charlie Stivers hoax before following the hostess to a large circular table where everyone else was already seated. June jumped up almost too eagerly to make the introductions. It was apparent by the relieved expression on her face that she had been afraid Ward was going to be a no-show. The friendly smiles all around the table eased Ward's tightly wound nerves. Perhaps, the evening would turn out better than he expected.

June's elder sister, Pamela, was a stunner. More outwardly glamorous than June, Pam's auburn hair was long and glossy and her black dress fit like a glove, setting off both her incredible figure and her flawless pale skin. Unlike June, who was sprinkled with freckles, Pamela didn't have a speck on her. Pam showed no signs of recognizing Ward as a fraud. The handsome Navy Commander at her side in full uniform could have stepped out of a wartime newsreel. The Commander, whose civilian name was Jonathan Holder, was a US senator's son, but the decorations on his uniform, Ward knew, were hard earned. A jagged scar at his right temple only added to the war hero effect. Was the Commander on leave or was the war over for him, too?

Peggy was the last member of the family to be presented. Not as beautiful as her older sisters, she was a smaller, more elfin version of June. When she stood up from the table to greet Ward, he was surprised by the heavy braces on her legs. She smiled up at him and said confidently, "Hi, I'm Peggy. I had polio when I was a kid. I don't let it bother me so don't let it bother you." She shook Nelson's hand and told him with just as much confidence, "It looks like we're the only ones who aren't paired off so why don't you come sit by me?" Nelson exchanged delighted looks with Ward and gladly accepted Peggy's invitation.

After dinner, while Peggy and Nelson spiritedly discussed the plot intricacies of their favorite mystery novels, the rest of the party took advantage of the band's excellent music. Pamela and Jonathan made a striking couple on the dancefloor. They were expert with all the steps. Ward danced with June, an activity he reveled in because it gave him an excuse to touch her. June was exactly the right height for dancing, not too short and not too tall, perfect for nestling her head into the warm place between his neck and his shoulder. Ward's old girlfriend, Helen, from back home in Indiana, was extremely tall for a girl and decidedly not the right height for dancing. Helen was taller than he, and when she wore heels, her lips were approximately the same height as his forehead. Helen often kissed Ward there on his forehead reminding him of the way Great-grandmother Cleaver used to kiss him on the forehead when he was a kid. Kisses from both women left embarrassing pink lipstick lip prints in the middle of his forehead that were especially humiliating when he forgot to wipe them off. Dancing with June was perfection. Ward held her tightly, perhaps a little too tightly for mere friends, but not too tightly for a young married couple. Was June purposefully resting her head on his shoulder for the sake of their act or was it because she liked dancing with him? Hell, she's probably tired his inner cynic told him.

Mr. and Mrs. Bronson danced every slow dance. The big man held his wife so tenderly, lost in her eyes. They seemed to be the most in love couple on the dancefloor. Mabel was every bit as lovely as her daughters, if not more so. Pamela was obviously trying to turn every head in the room, and June wasn't quite confident in her beauty. Mabel, in her elegant emerald gown, owned her beauty. She didn't have to create it or strive for it or look to others to confirm it. No one would suspect she was a dying woman.

Ward was dancing with June to the popular new song, 'You'd Be So Nice to Come Home To', daydreaming of actually coming home to her every day, when he was interrupted by Pamela's unwelcome voice asking, "May I cut in?" He reluctantly handed June off to Jonathan and allowed Pam to maneuver him out of earshot from everyone else in their group. "Okay, whoever you are because you positively aren't Charlie Stivers, what the hell is going on?"

Purple splotches of embarrassment bloomed across Ward's face. He wasn't accustomed to ladies using profanity, and he wasn't accustomed, not until the past few days, to lying, either. He gave her an indulgent smile as if he was used to dealing with daffy females and answered lightly without a hint of defensiveness, "What do you mean? I _am _Charlie Stivers. Remember? We met briefly in St. Paul? It was several months ago, and you were getting ready for a date. You don't remember me?" He chuckled and tried his hand at flirting, another thing, like lying, with which he had little experience. "It's the story of my life. I'm not memorable to women. Especially beautiful women like you."

Pamela snorted, "No, I don't remember _you_. I do, however, remember Charlie Stivers." She stabbed at the air perilously close to his face with a menacing blood red fingernail. "You," she said, her eyes blazing with accusation, "look nothing like him. He looked like Tyrone Power and sounded like a ruffian, like Public Enemy Number 1. You are not the Charlie Stivers I met in St. Paul."

"So let me get this straight, I don't look like Tyrone Power or sound like Jimmy Cagney. Anyone else I don't resemble? Fred Astaire? Ginger Rogers?"

"Don't be cute. June must think I'm a complete moron if she seriously believes I'd fall for this trick. I might not remember any of those pimply faced milquetoast boys she's brought home in the past, but I wouldn't forget the likes of Charlie Stivers. I knew the moment I laid eyes on him he was bad news. I should have never let June go on seeing him. She was in over her head. You are not Charlie, and if you don't tell me who you are and what you and my sister are up to right this minute, I'm going to tell my father."

"Haven't you told your father enough already?" Ward snapped angrily. Instantly, he was struck by the realization that Pam had only told the truth, as problematic as the truth was, and shouldn't be blamed for June's bad judgement. Indignation drained out of him and he fessed up with weary resignation, "Okay, okay. You got me. My name is Ward Cleaver. I'm a friend of June's. I agreed to help out with her parents because somebody," he looked meaningfully at Pam, "told them a secret that put June in an untenable position. I'm just filling in until Charlie gets back so your parents won't worry."

Pamela let out another derisive snort. "We have a family reunion every summer. Will she be attending it with you or her husband? Or are you planning to stand in for him at family functions from here on out?" Before he could answer, she suddenly stopped dancing and took a lurching step away from him. Ward saw the ugly realization dawn in her eyes. "June never married Charlie Stivers, did she? Did she?!"

Ward grabbed her and resumed the dance, noticing as he did so that the band had struck up another number. Were they being conspicuous by taking too long or by behaving overdramatically? "If Charlie doesn't come back, June can play the war widow or pretend the marriage didn't work out. If he does and they get married, she can explain I pretended to be Charlie to help reassure her overprotective parents she was being well cared for, and everyone can have a good laugh over the prank. If you had kept quiet like June asked you to, none of this would be necessary."

Outraged, Pamela exclaimed, "My little sister ran off to California after some Navy rat, winding up pregnant in the process, and you expect me to keep quiet?!"

They had navigated too close to the tables surrounding the dancefloor and curious faces looked in their direction. "Shh, Pamela, please. You don't want June disgraced, do you? And what about your mother? Your father told me about her. You don't want to bring on a heart attack, do you?"

Pam glanced over at her mother, who was sitting at their table smiling at something Ronald was saying, and softened, "Of course not."

"Okay, then, let June and me work this out." Before she could respond, Ward steered her across the dancefloor to their table, sick to his stomach because the jig was definitely up. Too many people were in on the secret. It was only a matter of time before this farce blew up in their faces.

Ward sat down at the table to find the conversation had turned to the war. Commander Holder started grilling him about the battle in the Atlantic. Unlike most people, Jonathan was knowledgeable on the subject because he had actually been there. His questions were specific, and Ward had a difficult time faking answers. Ward wished for Nelson as a diversion. Nelson was good with people. He could play the clown, telling jokes and funny stories, or get people talking about idiotic things like what part they played in their high school play. But Nelson and Peggy, claiming fatigue, had already headed off to bed, to separate hotel rooms, Ward hoped, because he didn't think he could survive another unexpected visit from the stork. After a while, the focus on Charlie's role in the war began to fade, and the discussion turned to various naval disasters. The Commander began to recount one horrific story after another about lost ships and lost men with a fascinated Mr. Bronson egging him on. Remembering Ward's brother had been killed in the war, Mabel tried unsuccessfully to turn the conversation to a more pleasant topic, but the men weren't paying attention to her. Eventually, Pamela, Mabel, and June ended up immersed in their own conversation about the wedding the next day.

Ward tried to focus on what the women were saying about the wedding, but his mind began to drift between thoughts of Wallace's death and his own wartime experiences. Soon, he felt his mouth go dry and his hands start to shake. He hadn't had a full blown nervous attack in months, but he could feel one coming on strong now. Fighting to stay in the moment, Ward willed his mind away from the war, but it was no use. No longer fully in the present, he muttered an almost unintelligible excuse about needing to get to bed, got up from the table, and staggered to the exit. Worried, June quickly said her goodnights and followed after him, finding sight of him as he stumbled across the parking lot toward the beach.

"Ward! Ward! Wait!" Unaware another person was in the world, he half ran, half crawled across the beach to the shelter of a large palm tree. June caught up to him and knelt in the sand beside him. "Ward, what's wrong? Are you sick?"

The beach was the worst place for him to have ended up. The sand, the ocean; it was like stepping back into the war. Gulping for air, Ward tried to hang onto the last remaining shreds of his composure, but when the bombing started, he knew he was lost. "Please, June, go away," he ground out, "it's…it's…I'm about to have…" he gasped for more air as bombs fell and exploded around him, "one of my spells…You have to go. I don't…I don't want you to see me like this." Tears began to spill freely down his cheeks. He clenched his arms around his stomach as his body violently convulsed. "Go…away…please…go away."

Paralyzed by helplessness and fear, June simply stared at Ward for long moment. She wasn't yet twenty and she felt far too young. Too young to have had a lover. Too young for the baby growing inside her. Too young to cope with the war scarred man in tears writhing next to her in the sand. June flashed to her bedroom back in Chicago with its frilly lavender bedspread and her old teddy bear tucked into the pillows and ached to be there, safe with her parents and sisters in their own rooms just down the hall. She wanted to be burrowed under the covers with the bear without a care in the world except how she would fill the next day. Tennis at the country club, perhaps? Shopping with her best friend, Trilby? A manicure? Ward's shuddering moans snapped her back into reality, and she slammed the door on her childhood once and for all. She was a woman now with a woman's problems, and Ward needed her. June tentatively reached out and ran her hand through his soft hair, letting it rest on lightly on the back of his neck. If he noticed her touch, he didn't show it. She gently shook him and whispered his name, and when this didn't illicit a response, she hauled his upper body onto her lap and held him close. Ward rocked and wept piteously, calling for Wallace and for Amos and Vinnie, two men she had never heard him mention. After a long while, his body went slack, and he lay there, not sleeping, but quiet and still. She brushed sand off his face and out of his hair, and he eventually fell asleep. June held Ward tight until exhaustion overtook her. After carefully moving him off her lap, she lay down in the sand next to him. She pulled his arm across her body and his hand, of its own accord, settled over the small swell of her belly where her baby grew, reminding her that Ward was the only thing standing between her child and a humiliating life as a bastard.

The next morning, June awoke as dawn was breaking with Ward's jacket draped over her. Panic made her heart race for a few seconds when she realized Ward wasn't lying next to her, but he wasn't far away. He sat with his back against the palm, knees drawn up to his chest, solemnly staring out at the ocean, smoking a cigarette. June found him strangely attractive sitting there in his wrinkled white dress shirt, tousled hair, and scruffy day old beard. The muted early morning light played on his handsome features. She got to her knees and scooted over to him. When he didn't speak or even acknowledge her, she timidly put her hand on his arm.

"Ward?" she said softly. He didn't answer her, but after a few seconds, he reached over and took her hand.

"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely, his mouth as dry as the sand surrounding him, "I never wanted you to see me that way. Never." How could he have fallen to pieces in front of her? How could he be so weak? He would never win her love from Charlie now.

"What's wrong with you? Is it, is it shell shock?"

Throughout the long night, June had been thinking of her father's friend, Mr. O'Brien, who suffered from shell shock from the first war. Her family had had him to dinner several times when she was a child. All she clearly remembered about Mr. O'Brien was that he was extremely nervous and odd. His clothes were always threadbare and rumpled and his bloodshot eyes were constantly darting around as if he expected something or someone to reach out and snatch him. Mr. O'Brien smoked one cigarette after another, even while at the dinner table. Smoking during meals was something her father did not generally tolerate, but he said nothing to his friend. One evening, their housekeeper, Gussie, dropped a tray of soup bowls as she passed behind Mr. O'Brien into the kitchen. Almost before the bowls had a chance to shatter on the hardwood floor, the poor man leapt from his chair, dove to the floor, and burst into tears. June thought he might crawl clear under the table in his blind scramble to get away from the demon that was chasing him. After that, Mr. O'Brien never came to dinner again. She later learned from Peggy, who had a talent for surreptitiously listening in on their parents' hushed conversations, that Mr. O'Brien had committed suicide despite the best efforts of her father and other men in their former outfit to save him. Was Ward like Mr. O'Brien? Was Ward crazy? Suicidal?

Ward flicked his cigarette across the sand. "Nowadays, they call it battle fatigue." He raked his free hand through his hair and rubbed at the stubble on his cheeks. "You must think I'm crazy."

"No, of course not!" she protested, a little too quickly and a little too vehemently to be completely convincing.

"Believe me, June, this hasn't happened in months. I have nightmares. A lot of nightmares. But I thought _this_ was behind me. I've seen counselors and they taught me ways to cope when I feel myself start to come undone. If I can get by myself and take some deep breaths and calm down, I can usually head it off. But, last night…last night, there were too many questions, too much talk about ships going down and men trapped on them. It hasn't helped that for the past few days, I've had to be Charles Stivers, Gunner's Mate, United States Navy."

"Ward, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I never would have asked you to pose as Charlie if I had known –"

"That you were dealing with a lunatic?"

"No, that's not what I meant. I wouldn't have asked if I had known it would hurt you." June knew this was another lie. Lying came so easily for her now it was truly frightening. She had to ask Ward to help her no matter how ridiculous her plan was or how many people got hurt. Ward was the only decent man she knew. Trixie's male friends weren't decent. And though she wasn't ready to face it yet, she knew deep down in her heart Charlie wasn't a decent man, either.

Ward played with her hand, gently tugging at each slender finger. "You haven't hurt me. In some ways, the past few days have been the best, the happiest of days of my life. I've enjoyed every minute of you being my wife. Me being Charlie Stivers, on the other hand, has its difficulties."

His wife. June blushed at this. It was quite a compliment to be considered anything but a problem and a headache. "Tell me about what happened to you in the war," she coaxed, though she found his remark achingly sweet, he was finally opening up to her and she didn't want to lose momentum by changing the focus to something he probably didn't really mean.

He shook his head. "I don't talk about it. It's easier that way. Talking doesn't help."

"Please, Ward, tell me. Were you with Wallace on the ship that went down? You seemed to be with him in…in your nightmares."

"No, we weren't together. I wish we had been. Maybe, I could've saved him. I wish it had been me instead of him. He shouldn't have been there."

"What do you mean?"

"You know how it was after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, everyone wanted to join the fight. Wallace and I were no exceptions, but I didn't want Wallace to go. Nobody wanted Wallace to go. Except Wallace. He was too, oh I don't know, gung ho, you know what I mean? I'm a plodding stick in the mud. Wallace was devil-may-care. He was too eager to go. He had a reckless streak a mile wide. He always played too hard, drove too fast. I knew he wouldn't be careful. I did some nosing around and found out that due to family hardship, it may have been possible for one of us to remain at home, because of Michael and Nicholas, I mean. I can't tell you how welcome the chance to join the military was to me. Well, to both of us really. Our house was so oppressive. After Mina died and Michael and Nicholas were born with their problems, something inside my mother broke. She became reclusive and bizarre. Angry. Before, Mother used to take Wallace and me wading in the creek, on picnics, fun stuff like that. I guess two healthy sons weren't enough to make up for the two damaged ones. Or the daughter she lost."

"What happened?"

Reluctantly, Ward picked up the threads of his story again. "We flipped a coin to decide which one of us would enlist, and I made sure I won the toss. Or lost, depending on how you want to look at it. I was his big brother. It was my job to protect him if I could. I've taken care of Wallace, that is," his voice cracked, "I _took_ care of Wallace all his life. Even though I was older, I used to trail along after him, helping him clean up his messes. Gluing knick-knacks back together before mother found out they were broken. Tending to scrapes and bloody noses when Wallace couldn't afford for our parents to find out how he got them. Fixing scratches on the car. Covering for him when he stayed out too late." Ward smiled, remembering the predicaments his little brother used to get them both into. At the time, a dent in their dad's car seemed like the end of the world, but now, Ward saw how comical and insignificant pickles like that really were.

"I had a ruptured eardrum when I was a kid," he went on, "so the regular military wouldn't take me. I ended up in a construction battalion. Wallace promised to wait and see if he got called up, to try to stay out of it if he could, but he broke his promise and joined the Navy. We never saw each other again. He was serving on the USS Quincy. The Quincy was sunk during the battle of Savo Island. It was one of the battles Commander Holder was discussing with your father last night. It was a terrible naval disaster. A lot of men were killed, including Wallace."

"They didn't know. They didn't know about your brother being there."

"To kids, little boys, war looks like fun in the movies. Guns, heroes, stuff blowing up. Wallace and I played war all the time. Even after I grew up, I didn't understand how brutal a war is until I got in the middle of one. I was so grateful Wallace didn't enlist. If one of us wasn't going to make it, I wanted it to be me. I didn't know he had joined the Navy until I got a letter from him later. It was months old by the time I received it. It'd gone to three wrong places before I finally got it. He wanted the Air Force, but was still excited that the Navy took him. He hoped I wasn't too disappointed in him for reneging on our deal, but he wanted to do his bit for our country. A few weeks later, I got a letter from my parents telling me he was gone."

"Oh, Ward," June breathed his name with genuine sorrow, "how awful for you."

"Wallace was a fireman. They keep the ship's engines running. A couple of days after I received the letter from my parents telling me about Wallace's death, I got a second letter from my parents about him. It had been lost like Wallace's letter so it was actually written before they knew he had been killed. Ironically, they were glad he was a fireman. Knowing Wallace, if he'd had his way, he would've been something glamorous like a fighter pilot or in covert operations. So my parents were relieved he ended up in the Navy doing an ordinary job. But as a fireman, he would have been down below when the ship was torpedoed. He never had a chance." Ward rubbed his gritty eyes. "I hear stories about men being trapped on sinking ships, drowning or being burned alive, and I think of Wallace and it rips me to pieces."

"What about you?" she asked, gently encouraging. "Tell me about you."

"A few minutes ago, you asked me if I was with Wallace. I wasn't with him, but I was close. He was killed during the first part of the Guadalcanal campaign, and I was with the construction battalion that followed the Marine invasion of Guadalcanal."

"Did you know Wallace was in the area, too?"

"That's another thing I can't get over. I was in the same area where Wallace was killed, and I didn't have a clue he was there. I know there is nothing I could have done to protect him, but to have been so close to him and not even know it. I keep thinking I should have known, sensed it somehow." Suddenly remembering where they were and why they were there, Ward dropped her hand and said, "Communication is almost impossible during a war. I'm sure that's why you haven't heard from Charlie. You'll probably get a whole stack of letters from him in the mail any day now."

"I don't want to talk about Charlie. I want to talk about you. I'm worried about you."

"Don't worry, please. I'm okay." He stood up stiffly and helped her to her feet. "You should get going. Your family will be concerned about you."

June swatted at the sand sticking to her wrinkled dress. The beautiful gown she had painstakingly chosen for the occasion was probably ruined, but she didn't care. "We have to get ready for breakfast."

"Would you mind if I skipped it?"

"You can't. Everyone will be there. They'll be expecting you."

"I need to take a walk. Clear my head. I'll see you later at the church. Okay?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned to walk away, but she clung to his arm.

"Ward," she entreated, her voice begging him not to let her down.

The sea breeze lifted June's curls and swept them across her face. Ward dragged his fingers through her hair and pinned it out of the way. He stepped in close and tilted her head up until they were looking directly into each other's eyes. "I swear to you, June, I'll be there today. I'll be at the church."

"How can you? How can you promise before God to…to…We barely know each other."

"I'm not promising, Charlie is. Remember, I'm just his stand in." June held Ward's eyes, her own eyes full of desperation, wanting him to make her believe in him. "It's going work out, June. I am promising you this before God; I'm going to make this right for you and your baby." Ward turned loose her hair and let his hand slide down her face in a slow caress. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, then turned and strode off down the beach.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

"There's still time to back out of this nutty plan," Nelson mumbled under his breath as he and Ward took their places at the end of the aisle.

"Shut up," Ward hissed. His eyes scanned the church looking for Tyrone Power or anyone else who might stand up and betray him as an impostor, but, with the exceptions of Nelson and Pamela, no one there knew he wasn't Charlie Stivers. Along with the Bronson family were Mrs. Hollins, the minister's wife, and their four daughters who had each brought along dates, and the church organist, who was to play the wedding march, and her husband. At Pamela's urging, Jonathan managed to round up a few Navy acquaintances stationed in San Diego. The men and their lady friends jumped at the chance for a party, though they didn't know the bride or the groom. All in all, the disparate group of family, friends, and strangers made for a pretty swell wedding.

"I hope we don't get struck by lightning in a few minutes."

"I said shut –" Just then, the music started and Pamela made her way down the aisle followed by June on the arm of her father. Ward was awed by the sight of June. She looked like an angel in an ivory gown that perfectly matched the yellowed lace of the delicate, ancient veil. Mr. Bronson handed June off to Ward, and he held her trembling hand while the minister gave a lengthy speech about the sacredness and finality of marriage. Ward, never taking his eyes off June, drank in every single word.

"I, Ward, take you June, to be my wedded wife; to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish til death do us part." Ward gave himself to June with those vows whether she wanted him or not.

The only person in the church who noticed the groom used the wrong name while repeating his vows was the stunned bride.

Ward's heartfelt vows along with his earnest face and his depthless brown eyes caused a seismic shift inside June, and when she repeated her vows, she used Ward's name instead of Charlie's. It seemed like the only thing she could do. In that moment, she meant Ward, wanted Ward, not Charlie. Her low, tremulous voice made it almost impossible to hear her, so once again, the name switching went undetected.

When the ceremony was over and it came time to kiss the bride, Ward raised June's veil and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. Nelson led the chorus of catcalls and boos in protest of the uninspired kiss. Someone in the crowd yelled, "You can do better than that!"

So Ward did better. He took June in his arms and kissed her for all he was worth. All the love and yearning he felt for her wrapped up in that one kiss.

June had never been kissed this way, not even by Charlie. For a few exquisite seconds, she completely forgot about how she came to be standing at the altar with Ward and the treachery behind it. She felt like a princess in a fairy tale in her beautiful new gown and her antique veil and now, the handsome prince was lifting her curse with a kiss.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

The reception was held at the hotel, and thanks to the small fortune Mr. Bronson spent for the open bar, a good time was had by all. After the reception was over, much to the chagrin of the hotel's staff who had to clean up the mess, the enthusiastic partygoers herded the bride and groom toward the elevator, spiritedly tossing handfuls of rice at them until the elevator doors slid shut. Ward raked rice out of his hair and breathed a long sigh of relief. It was over. The I dos had been said, the cake had been cut, the dances had been danced, and the bouquet had been thrown. Tomorrow, everyone would go home, and he and June would have some breathing room to figure out the next step. If June wanted him to leave her alone to wait for Charlie, he would, albeit reluctantly. If she wanted him to help her devise a way to convince the world she was a widow or a divorcee with a child, he would do his best. He hoped whatever she decided she would let him remain a part of her life. Charlie Stivers wasn't the man for June, he was. All he needed was a chance to prove it to her.

The elevator operator deposited them on the top floor, and the bellboy let them into the honeymoon suite. The room was a suite in name only. Due to the war, space was at a premium so the once spacious suite had been divided and was now only a cramped room with a bed, a wooden chair, a dresser, and a small bathroom. Someone had meticulously laid out their nightclothes side by side on the bed. The empty clothes looked as if their occupants had been vaporized in their sleep, leaving behind only two sets of racy pajamas.

Embarrassed right down to her toes, June pointed toward the sexy nightgown with the matching robe lying on the bed. "They don't belong to me," she informed him in a rush of words, wanting to make certain he understood this wasn't her doing. "It's Pamela's idea of a joke."

Ward laughed nervously, "I'm afraid these fancy silk pajamas aren't mine, either. I'm more of a flannel type of guy myself. And, I'm not sure red's my best color."

They stood there sheepishly regarding each other, neither of them quite sure what to say or do next. June broke the uneasy silence by softly asking, "Are we married now, Ward? You said you were taking the vows for Charlie, but you didn't. You were yourself. Weren't you?"

"I decided at the last minute that lying to God in church wasn't such a hot idea after all. What about you, you didn't make your vows to Charlie."

June shrugged, "What else could I do?"

What else could you do, indeed, Ward thought. He led her to the edge of the bed and made her sit. He dragged over the chair and sat down in front of her, his knees lightly brushing against hers. "June, we're going to have to make a plan soon, but it doesn't have to be tonight. I want you to know that I'm willing to do whatever you want. I lov – I care about you, and I really want to help you and your child." She stared at him, her expression a mixture of gratitude and fear. He didn't want her to get upset and start fretting about the future so he patted her knee and said, "It's time for us to go bed."

June trailed her fingers over the nightgown. The silk was like liquid, as if it had been poured from a bottle of blush wine. She had never seen anything so grown up, so feminine. Assuming Pamela hadn't absconded with them, her own cotton pajamas adorned with tiny yellow daisies were in her suitcase, and the temptation to wear them instead was tremendous. After a moment's hesitation, June scooped up the silk gown and hurried into the bathroom. She emerged a few minutes later wearing the nightgown. Ward was busy trying to decide the best place to make his bed on the floor, but when he saw June, he forgot what he was doing and simply stared at her. She was even more beautiful now than in her wedding dress. Her robe was still lying on the bed, and the diaphanous gown, in a shade of pink so delicate it was almost translucent, left little to the imagination. Ward expected her to immediately dive under the covers, but she surprised him by slowly walking toward him. The terrified expression that overtook her face with each step was one of a lamb going to slaughter. When she was standing directly in front of him, she stopped and purposely looked up at him as if waiting for him to do something.

In June's limited experience with sexual relations, Charlie had always taken the lead so she waited for Ward to start. Unsure of what she was doing or how to respond, Ward did nothing so with resigned determination, she let the straps of her nightgown drop, and the smooth fabric slid downward, exposing her breasts to him. Fighting the compulsion to run back into safety of the bathroom, June wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself to him, seemingly to continue her seduction, but the brazen action was actually a way to hide herself from his view. Dumbfounded by her behavior, Ward continued to numbly stand there as she clumsily pulled his shirt out of his trousers. She was fumbling with the buttons at his fly when he took her by the shoulders and pushed her away from him.

"June, what are you doing?" he demanded, both aroused and repulsed by her wanton behavior.

Scalding tears of humiliation sprang to her eyes. She hastily crossed her hands over her chest to cover herself. "I…I was trying to repay you."

"Repay me?"

"Repay you for helping me. I know men have needs and after everything you've done for me…We're married, now, more or less, and a husband has rights. I thought it's what you wanted. You said it was time for us to go to bed."

"Pay me?" Ward repeated incredulously. He shook his head with abject disbelief. "My god, June! My god!" He stuffed his shirt back into his pants and fled from the room.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

"Hey, sailor, buy a girl a drink?"

"Not funny, Nelson." Ward waved over the bartender. "Another beer for me and one for my friend here."

Nelson slid over a bowl of peanuts from the end of the bar and sat down on the stool next to Ward. "Aren't you supposed to be on your honeymoon?"

"Still not funny."

"What happened?" he demanded, his voice rising with fake outrage, "Did June kick you out? Were you a big hairy beast? Do you snore?"

"Knock it off!"

"You know, if any of the Bronsons catch you down here in the bar instead of in the honeymoon suite with your new bride, there'll be a lot of questions."

Ward glanced at the bartender to make sure he wasn't listening. "June just offered herself up to me like I'm some kind of Roman emperor demanding a virgin sacrifice. Her idea of payment for services rendered."

"Technically, Ward, since June has a baby on the way, I don't think a virgin sacrifice is still possible." The bartender turned and gave them a quizzical look. In his forty years of tending bar, he thought he'd heard it all, but the young men's conversation took the blue ribbon.

Ward met Nelson while they were both recovering from their war wounds in the same hospital in San Diego. They had witnessed some of the lowest points in each other's lives. Ward once watched Nelson crawl on the floor in agony after a pencil that had rolled under the bed because he was too proud to ask for help. Nelson had seen Ward with the shakes so bad he couldn't button his own shirt. They never said a word about it to each other, but in unspoken agreement, Ward picked up Nelson's dropped pencils and Nelson buttoned up Ward's shirts. With the exception of Wallace, Ward knew he'd never have a closer friend, but sometimes, he wanted to strangle Nelson for being too flip. This was one of those times.

"Nelson, you aren't helping so either cut the comedy or beat it," Ward growled. He got up and carried his beer over to a table in the back of the bar out of the way of the prying ears of the bartender.

Nelson wiped the impish expression off his face and stuffed in a handful of peanuts before grabbing the bowl and his beer and following Ward. "So what gives?"

"I used to think I was a pretty good judge of character, but now, I don't know…I want to believe June is a nice girl, but her actions…I just don't know. How could I have fallen so hard for her so fast?"

"June's a good kid. She just fell in with the wrong person and got in over her head."

"I wish I'd never met her," Ward said bitterly. "Let her wait for Charlie til the cows come home if she wants. I'll go back to Indiana. I'll take over the store. I'll marry Helen if she'll have me."

"Helen the hardware heiress?"

The hardware heiress, Helen Cline, had been Ward's girlfriend since the dawn of time. They met on their first day of school when Helen ran up and kissed his cheek on a dare. Any boy would have sufficed to meet the terms of the dare; Helen got possession of her friend's new hair ribbon for successfully completing the challenge, but Ward Cleaver was the handiest so he got the kiss. Six year old Ward immediately spit on his hand and vigorously rubbed his cheek to scrub the kiss away, nevertheless, the kiss kicked off a decades long association between them. Their closely spelled last names insured that they sat next each other in class, and they seemed fated to be thrown together ever after. Helen and Ward played a pilgrim couple fresh off the Mayflower in the first grade play and George and Martha Washington in the second grade play. Ward was Helen's escort for their first dance in the fourth grade, and then all other dances and school functions until they became an official couple when they were old enough to officially date.

They dated through high school and beyond. Everyone, including Ward and Helen, expected they'd get married someday. That's how it worked in their neighborhood. High school sweethearts got married after they graduated. Boys went to work in family businesses or became milkmen or factory workers. Girls set up housekeeping and had children. Helen's parents owned a hardware store, and she was their only child, their only heir. Irina had mercenary visions of Ward someday owning both Cleaver's Grocery and Cline's Hardware, making him a smalltime retail tycoon. Helen was pretty and nice, but unfortunately, had no head for business so the aging Clines thought it a stroke of luck to have a ready-made son-in-law, experienced in retail, to take over their business.

Most of Ward and Helen's friends were married straight out of high school, but somehow, Ward had never gotten up the nerve to propose. Those who had managed to avoid getting hitched immediately after graduation had done so at a fevered pitch after the war broke out, but instead of inflaming Ward and Helen's ardor, the war had put a graceful end to their tepid romance. Their relationship had gone on far longer than it should have, but unwittingly entrenched in the same old rut and feeling pleased because their families were pleased, even Ward and Helen hadn't noticed they had about as much spark as a wet firecracker. Without proximity and routine to keep their romance alive, they quickly fizzled out after Ward joined the Seabees. Before Ward left for overseas duty, they mutually agreed to call it quits. However, they were still in touch with each other. Helen wrote to Ward often, and he wrote back. While he was overseas, Helen's letters had been fairly benign. Cheery yellow stationery filled with the local goings-on. Now that he was stateside again, her letters had become less newsy and a lot friendlier. In her latest letter, one Ward had yet to answer because he was busy masquerading as June's husband, Helen had sent out subtle but definite feelers to see if he was still interested. He wasn't, but maybe he should be. Given the current state of affairs, Helen Cline was looking better all the time. At least she wasn't pregnant and in love with another man.

"Sure, why not? A nice girl. Steady work. Plus, I wouldn't be beating my head against a rock like I am now."

"Marry Helen and in a couple years, I guarantee you, you'll be beating your head against a rock for different reasons." Nelson broke into his surprisingly uncanny imitation of Humphrey Bogart, the tough talk incongruous with the speaker's baby face, bright red hair, and gapped front teeth, "If you walk away from June, you'll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not to tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life."

The military hospital had a handful of movies that they played over and over evenings in the rec room. Ward and Nelson had seen 'Casablanca' about twenty-five times. Nelson loved to impress people with his Bogie imitation, but Ward was no longer amused by it, especially not tonight. "I am not vying for who will fly out with June on the last plane out of Casablanca," Ward said sharply. "June and I are not Bergman and Bogart, although, somehow, I have wound up in competition with Tyrone Power." Ward threw up his hands in disgust. "Nelson, what can I do, really? Pretend I'm married to her? To what end? We can't keep it up forever."

"Why not?"

"Well, for starters, June loves Charlie no matter how he treats her. She can't get enough of his abuse. Then, there's the problem of money. The only way I can support June and her baby is to quit school and find a better job. I could go to work for my parents or on my grandfather's farm or drive a truck. Call me selfish or proud, but I want something better for myself than manual labor. I'm the first Cleaver to go college, and I want to be the first Cleaver who isn't a slave to the whims of fickle customers or Mother Nature. I don't want to break my back every day until I die." He chuckled mirthlessly and took a swig of beer. "I doubt my back could hold out for long, anyway."

"So you wouldn't be willing to sacrifice life as a junior executive for June?"

"I would," Ward stated with fierce conviction, "I'd drive a truck. I'd dig ditches. I'd do whatever I have to do to take care of her, but June doesn't love me, and like you keep reminding me, this phony marriage scam is nuts. She's going to wind up even more humiliated attempting this cover up than she would be if she had told the truth from the beginning. If honesty is the best policy, why shouldn't it be in this case, too?"

"Is honesty always the best policy?" Nelson asked rhetorically with a meaningful glance at Ward. He was thoughtful for a few minutes while he munched peanuts and sipped his beer, then he extended his arms and asked, "Have you noticed my snazzy suit?" He was wearing the nice suit he'd worn to both the dinner party and the wedding.

Slightly miffed that Nelson changed the subject, Ward answered, "Yeah, I was green with envy last night because your elegant suit made mine look all the more shabby. June was probably embarrassed to be seen with me. If the Bronsons hadn't bought me a new suit, I would've looked like a bum at the wedding, too."

"My parents had this suit made for me when they thought I was going to kick the bucket. It was supposed to be my funeral suit. They were going to bury me in it. After the Marines shaved seventy pounds off me, I wasn't the beefy football player I once was. None of my old clothes fit. My dad wanted me to be buried in my uniform, but my mom was furious with Uncle Sam for sending me to my doom and wouldn't have it. So they had this suit made and bought a casket and a burial plot, told the preacher to get his speech lined out, the whole nine yards. They wanted to get all the pesky details of my death out the way so when I actually croaked they could concentrate on grieving for me without any distractions."

Ward made a low whistle. "Gee, Nelson, I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm not. What did Mark Twain say? The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated? Anyway, the reason I brought it up is when I wear the suit, I'm reminded that, sometimes, things work out even though we don't expect them to. It's always darkest before the dawn and all that jazz."

"And?"

"And, I think you should stick it out with June for a little while longer. You've already taken drastic measures, against my better judgment, I might add. Why run scared now?" He took an envelope out of his breast pocket and slid it over to Ward. "Here."

"What's this?"

"A wedding present."

"Wedding present?" Ward opened the envelope, took out a piece of paper, and studied it for several seconds. "What is this?"

"It's a marriage certificate. All the legal stuff has been filled in, but the names of the bride and groom as well as the date have been conveniently left blank."

"Where'd you get this?"

"I get around," he replied vaguely with a twinkle in his eyes. "Don't worry; it's legit - certified and everything. All you have to do is fill in the who and the when."

"I don't understand."

Nelson exhaled a heavy, exasperated gust of air. "I swear, Ward, for a smart guy, sometimes, you're a real dumbbell. Use your head. Let's suppose you and June keep the scam going for the foreseeable future. There's no record at all of your supposed courthouse marriage. And, you can't claim your wedding date is today. You'd have a hell of a time trying to explain a nine pound premature baby. With this, you can create the dates to suit your timeline."

Ward gave his friend an appreciative pat on the back. "You think of everything don't you?"

"Actually, I was afraid the minister wouldn't marry you today if you didn't have it. I guess he didn't ask for it because he was laboring under the delusion that you and June were already married. The hitch is a copy won't be on file with the county clerk, but I figure what with all the confusion the war is causing, nobody will ever know the difference. If something comes up, all you have to do is cry clerical error. We did it all the time in the Marines."

"Thanks, but I doubt we'll be needing this."

"You never know, Ward. You never know. Go back upstairs. I'm sure your wife is wondering where you are."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

Ignoring the curious sideways glances from the dawdling elevator operator who was more interested in why Ward wasn't in his room enjoying the attentions of his cute new wife than he was in getting the elevator back down to the lobby, Ward knocked on the door of the bridal suite. June tentatively opened the door a crack and peeked out. "It's me. Let me in." She opened the door a little wider, and taking this to be an invitation, he stepped inside. She was wearing his robe now, his old flannel robe not the new red silk one, over her new nightgown. She quickly scurried into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. Ward wondered if she was swaddling herself in layers of fabric to avoid getting him hot and bothered or to avoid incurring his wrath by showing too much skin.

Carefully, she studied him, trying to gauge his mood. Was he still angry? What had she done wrong this time? Didn't all men want what she had presented to him on a silver platter or did Ward just not want her?

Meanwhile, Ward suddenly couldn't get the image of the half-naked June out of his head so the ensuing silence was painfully tense. He lit a cigarette more to have something to do rather than for the want of one. A couple of long, satisfying drags helped him relax, but worrying the acrid smoke might not be good for the baby, he ground out the cigarette in the ashtray on the dresser.

"June," he started slowly, "June, I'm, I'm…I apologize for my behavior earlier. I overreacted, and I'm sorry."

She wouldn't meet his eyes. Looking down at the bedclothes, she said, "I'm sorry, too, but I thought it's what you wanted."

"I know you don't love me, June! Why would you possibly think that throwing yourself at me is what I wanted?" he barked indignantly. "Have I ever done anything to make you think that I –" Her exhausted, humiliated, but still beautiful face tore at his heart, and he lowered his voice. "I'm sorry. Again. The truth is, I want you, but not in that way, not like that. Not as payment because you think you owe me or because you feel it's my right. And certainly not while you still want Charlie." Ward sat down beside her on the edge of the bed, but when he realized what he had done, he instantly hopped up as if he had sat down on a hot stove.

With a shy wave, June indicated the space beside her. "It's okay, you can sit here."

Ward sat back down and made a move to take her hand, but decided against it and folded his hands in his lap instead. "June, you do understand, don't you, that no man has the right to touch you if you don't want him to?"

She ducked her head in shame. "But Charlie said a man has a right to –"

"I've never met Charlie Stivers, but I can say with confidence that Charlie is a slug, and you shouldn't listen to a word he says. Didn't your mother ever talk to you about, you know, the facts of life?"

"Of course, she did," June retorted, her voice tight with embarrassment and growing anger. "I'm not a child."

"Well, what did she say?" Fearing June might give him a lecture about the birds and the bees, describing what goes where like his father did when he turned thirteen, a tremendously uncomfortable discussion to say the least, he amended the question as swiftly as his self-conscious, tied-tongue would allow, "I don't mean about the um, physical or biological aspects. What did she tell you about the emotional part? The, the…I don't know…the _want_?"

Mortification didn't prevent her from answering in a straightforward manner. She had already had the talk twice. Once with her mother on the day she became a 'woman' and more recently, during her latest visit with Grandmother Agatha, who believed at nineteen, it was high time June start thinking about landing a husband. If her grandmother only knew. Since she had had to face the embarrassing subject two times already, what was one more?

"Mother said I had to wait until I'm married. I intended to wait, but I never seemed to have a chance to make a decision with Charlie. Things always happened too fast. Mother said being with your husband is wonderful, but my grandmother told me that I may not always like it, that I may not always want to. Grandmother Agatha said it's a woman's duty to her husband because he's the head of the house. Charlie told me a man has needs and he has a right. Isn't that what my grandmother meant? "

"June, you don't have to let any man, not Charlie, not your husband, not anyone lay a finger on you if it's not what you want."

She protested, eyes glistening and chin quivering, "But Charlie loves me and when someone loves you, you want to make them happy."

"Oh, June," Ward sighed, feeling something akin to both rage and pity on behalf of her trampled upon innocence, "if a man really loves you, he doesn't try to force you, not physically or emotionally. Charlie doesn't love you. He was using you."

The truth began to sink in then, the full weight of her lies and her actions and her pregnancy drowning her like a terrible black wave. Tears had been gathering ever since Ward stormed out earlier, and now, she began to cry in earnest. "Charlie's not coming back, is he?"

"No, I don't think he'll be back." Ward wrapped June in his arms and let her cry.

"What am I going to do, Ward?" she sobbed into his shoulder, "What am I going to do?"

"It's okay, baby, don't cry," he whispered, his palm making soothing circles on her back, "I'm here. I won't leave. I promise, I'm not going anywhere. We'll figure out something."

Ward laid her back against the pillows and tucked the blanket around her. He used the corner of the sheet to gently dab away her tears. "We need to get some sleep." He pulled his blue plaid pajamas out of his suitcase. "I'll stick with these if you don't mind." He went into the bathroom to change. When he came out, he took the extra blanket and pillow out of the closet and tossed them on the floor.

"Ward," June offered timidly, "you can sleep in the bed, too. You won't be comfortable on the floor."

"The floor is fine. Believe me, I've slept in worse places."

Ward had slept in worse places, but not since he had been wounded and sent stateside. He found it impossible to find a position on the hard floor that didn't cause him a great deal of pain. June spent over an hour listening to him toss and turn. Finally, she had enough and snapped on the lamp on the bedside table.

"Ward Cleaver, get into bed this instant. Neither of us is going to get any sleep with you wiggling around on the floor all night." Too tired to argue, he obediently climbed into bed and within a few minutes the weary honeymooners drifted off to sleep.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

Accustomed to getting up with the chickens to make the first shift at the diner, June awoke early the next morning. For several weeks, she had been greeted each day by a queasy stomach, but lately, the sick feeling was fading. This morning, except for the fact her life was a wreck, a situation that could easily cause her to feel sick at any given moment, she felt marvelous. June put her hand over her stomach and softly cooed, "I guess we're finally getting used to each other, huh, little one."

Ward stirred in his sleep and she turned over on her side to look at him. Head propped up on her elbow, she studied him; the funny cowlick on crown of his head, the steady rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed, his narrow waist. It was very strange indeed to have Ward lying in bed next to her. Regardless of what she had done with Charlie, she had never shared her bed with a man before. The weight of Ward's body next to hers and the warmth he radiated were comforting, if not odd. She almost wanted to press herself against him, to feel what it was like to be close to a man without having to submit to the things Charlie had done to her. June wondered what it would be like to wake up next to a man everyday, her husband. What would it be like to see his face, Ward's face? Charlie's face? first thing every morning and last thing every night? How would it be to know someone else almost as well as she knew herself? To know his rhythms and breathing patterns, to know when he had something on his mind or wasn't feeling well, when he was having a good day or a bad day, a good dream or a bad dream?

Ward's back was to her so she couldn't see his face, but he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Late into the night, she had awakened to find him in the throes of a nightmare. Like the heartbreaking night she spent with him on the beach, Ward had called out for Wallace, Vinnie, and Amos. Thankfully, the nightmare hadn't been as torturous as his breakdown on the beach. Last night, she stroked his hair and murmured calming words into his ear until the tension eased and he quietened down and went back to sleep.

During his nightmare, Ward had struggled with the bedclothes and now they were wadded around his middle. June carefully tried to smooth them back into position without disturbing him, but, in doing so, she inadvertently lifted up the shirt of his pajamas, revealing part of his lower back. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her shocked gasp. Fresh scars riddled his skin. Shock quickly gave way to curiosity and she tried to pull his shirt up a bit more, but Ward suddenly leapt from the bed.

"What's the matter, haven't you seen enough?" he demanded, his dark eyes turning black with fury.

"Ward, I –"

"Here, I'll help you!" He wheeled around and yanked his shirt over his head. "Take a real good look!"

This time, June couldn't stop the gasp that escaped her mouth. "Oh, Ward," she exhaled. His entire back was lacerated with scars, both large and small. All of them raised and puckered in livid shades of red and purple. His left shoulder was particularly damaged.

"Not so pretty, is it? I'm sure Charlie Stivers, the poor man's Tyrone Power, has a perfect body, a strong body. Well, I don't. Sometimes, I can't even summon the strength to push the mail cart around the office. I'm lucky Brockwell is willing to give guys like Nelson and me a break. When we get home this afternoon, you can just forget about being carried over the threshold."

"I'm so sorry." June got out of bed and went to him. She was still wearing his robe over her nightgown.

The sight of her all bundled up further fueled Ward's anger. "I don't want your pity." He reached out and flicked up the end of the robe's belt. "You don't have to wear so many clothes to bed. I'm not Charlie. I'm not going to demand my rights and violate you in the dead of the night." He jerked up his suitcase, the sudden action causing a hot spurt of pain through his back, and hauled it into the bathroom.

Ward took his time getting ready. The scalding hot shower did wonders to alleviate his achy back and foul humor. After shaving and brushing his teeth, he felt almost human again. He stepped out of the bathroom smartly dressed in a pair of gray trousers and a crisp white shirt. Feeling ashamed for having treated June badly once again, he wanted to ask forgiveness for his explosion, but she was gone.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

"June? What on earth? How did you get down here?"

"I took the stairs. Don't worry; nobody saw me." Suitcase in hand, June pushed through the door of Pamela's hotel room. She was barefoot and still wearing Ward's bathrobe over her nightgown. "Can I get dressed in here?"

"Certainly, but may I ask why you aren't getting dressed in your own room? Lover's quarrel? Or are you shy?" Pam asked in a taunting tone, a wide, immensely annoying to her sister, smile plastered across her face.

"We are _not _lovers," June replied vehemently, tired of her sister's razzing. Ever since she arrived in Coronado, Pam had either been poking fun at her situation or making condescending comments about it as if she was far too superior to ever get herself in such mess. The irony was that June had been sent to St. Paul to keep her adventurous older sister out of just this type of trouble. Pam was the beautiful, impetuous one who had men lined up around the block and was willing to try almost anything once. June was the steady, responsible one who should never have attracted a guy like Charlie, let alone run off to marry him.

"So, you admit the man you married yesterday wasn't Charlie Stivers?" Realizing her mistake, June began to sputter and stammer an excuse to cover her slip-up. Pamela wagged a finger at June and smirked, "Didn't Ward tell you? I've already figured it all out. I can't believe you thought I'd be so stupid! You actually thought I wouldn't notice the difference?! And, I still can't believe you were dumb enough to fall for Charlie's lines, either. Good grief, June! You let him get you pregnant! Don't you have any sense?"

"What I can't believe is that you told Mother and Daddy about me and Charlie and the baby after I asked you not to and you promised you wouldn't!"

"I had to tell them! They were worried about you! You're the one who made up a pack of lies, not me! What were you thinking?! What _are _you thinking?! Now, you've involved this Ward person, a total fraud. Where's it going to end?"

Where was it going to end? Both relieved and angry that her sister was in on every single one of her secrets, June plopped her suitcase down on the bed, opened it, and rummaged around until she pulled out her cosmetics bag, hairbrush, and the various pieces of clothing necessary to make herself presentable. "Since you know everything, there isn't any point in discussing it, is there?"

Pamela folded her arms across her chest and stared at June, the infuriating smirk firmly back in place.

"Why are you enjoying this so much? You're supposed to be on my side."

Contrite, Pamela sat down on the bed and pulled June down next to her. "I'm sorry, Junie, I'm not enjoying this." She giggled, "Well, maybe a little. For once, the spotlight isn't on me. I can't believe my goody two-shoes little sister who always made perfect grades, dated only timid bookworms, and never broke curfew in her life got herself a pea in the pod and hatched a devious scheme to cover it up complete with an imitation groom."

June leaned into her sister's shoulder, grateful for Pam's familiar feel and scent after being separated from her for such a long time. It was wonderful to be with her sister again even if Pam was being a horror. "No one like Charlie has ever given me a second look. He made me feel pretty and special. Kind of like the boys who swarm around you."

"June, dear, I haven't dated boys in years. I like big, grown up men."

"You know what I mean. When I was a kid, I used to sneak downstairs and hide until you came home from dates. I used to listen in."

"Oh, June, you didn't! How could you?"

"They all thought you were sooo beautiful and sooo much fun, and you said they were sooo handsome and sooo much fun. Then, you'd sit on the sofa and neck until Daddy came downstairs and chased the boy away. The best I could do was Andrew Stritch, who only asked me to dances because his mother made him. She wanted some return on her investment for those dancing lessons she forced him to take. I'm afraid the dancing lessons were a total waste of time. He was murder on my feet. Andrew never told me I was beautiful. He certainly wasn't good looking, and he only wanted to talk about his stamp collection or school. Lord knows he never tried to kiss me, not that I wanted him to. I don't count Anthony Hayward and George Ryland who only took me out because they wanted to meet you."

Pamela chose to ignore June's comment about Anthony and George. She couldn't help it if they preferred her over June. "June, you _are_ beautiful. The last year, you've really blossomed. Your face has finally filled out to match your enormous eyes. You're lean and willowy with legs that go on for miles. Do you know what I would give to be built like you? Peggy and I are short just like Mother. You can eat anything you want, but if I even look at a piece of pie, I gain five pounds around my hips. You're very beautiful, June, inside and out, that's why Charlie was interested in you. Ward, too."

"Ward's only a friend."

"Ward is crazy about you."

June shook her head. "I don't think he likes me anymore."

"Why? Did you have a fight?"

"I know something bad happened to him in the war, but he won't tell me about it. He suffers from shell shock, I mean, battle fatigue. Kind of like Mr. O'Brien. Remember? I found out this morning that Ward's back has been injured. It's awfully bad. I tried to sneak a look at it while he was asleep, but he woke up and he was furious."

"Did he kick you out of the room?"

"No, of course not. Ward would never do anything like that, but he barricaded himself in the bathroom. I didn't want to be there when he came out so I came to you. I don't know what to say to him."

"You know from working at the hospital that soldiers have a rough go of it. Be patient with him. He'll be fine." Pamela put her arm around her sister and with a naughty Cheshire cat grin, whispered conspiratorially, "I've been dying to ask. How was it with Charlie?"

"What do you mean?" June asked tersely, knowing exactly what Pam meant.

"_You know_…how _was_ he?"

"You sound like Trixie!"

"Who's Trixie?"

"Nobody…it doesn't matter…I don't want to talk about Charlie."

"Charlie seemed like a pretty hot dish. I have to admit I was a little jealous that you managed to reel him in before I had the chance. I remember he tried to impress me with some big talk about buying a yacht. What was that all about?"

June groaned with exasperation. Why wouldn't Pamela drop it? "His dream is to buy a boat and live on the ocean. Sail up and down the California coast and Mexico. The Caribbean, too. He said all I would need is a bathing suit and a sarong for when we have to dock."

Pamela winked suggestively. "Sounds good to me."

"Oh, really? They don't have night clubs and fancy restaurants on old boats."

"You know what I mean. Jonathan has political aspirations like his father. He has it all planned out. When the war is over, he's going to run for the State Assembly. Then Congress. If everything goes as planned, he's going to run for his father's Senate seat after he retires. Who knows?" She studied her manicure and said smugly, "I might be First Lady someday. It will all be quite sophisticated and very, very upper crust, but I also know it will be quite tiresome acting upright and proper all the time. I wouldn't mind one last fling under a starry Mexican sky with a gorgeous man before I retire from the ring."

"That's not the kind of life I want."

"Which one? Romance on the high seas or politics? Oh, yes, I know. You want the house and the kiddies and Canasta on Friday nights. Dinner at six, in bed by ten. Should be right down Ward's alley." Pamela made a great show of stretching and patting her mouth with her hand. "Yawn."

"It won't be boring!" Pamela laughed contemptuously. "It won't! Wanting a quiet, peaceful life doesn't make you boring, especially if you've just lived through a war. If you want Charlie and his boat, you can have him. Or go ahead and be First Lady! See if I care! But in the meantime, leave me alone!" June stood up, raked up her belongings, and stomped into the bathroom followed by a resounding slam of the door.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

After having looked all over the hotel, Ward finally found June sitting alone at an outdoor table at a little café down the beach. With his hands in his pockets and head bowed low, he sheepishly asked, "May I sit down?" She shrugged as though she didn't care one way or the other so he took the chair across from her.

June nodded at the remnants of her tea and croissant. "Would you like to order something to eat?" she asked in a stilted, formal manner.

"No, thanks, I had some coffee earlier. June," he blurted out, "I want to apologize for my behavior this morning." He stopped for a beat and added with a tight half-smile, eyes still downcast, "It seems I'm always apologizing to you for one thing or another."

"I was my fault. I overstepped," she replied briskly, taking great care to arrange her utensils on her plate to indicate she was finished eating so she wouldn't have to look him in the face.

"My injuries are a touchy subject. I know I shouldn't lose my temper, but I do because of stupid pride or vanity, maybe…I don't know…Compared to Nelson's legs, my problems are nothing." Ward stared out over the water for a minute. "Would you like to take a walk on the beach?"

Apprehensive about what was coming next, June rose from the table and joined him. They walked the few shorts steps to the sand where she slipped off her sandals and Ward his socks and shoes. He wiggled his toes in the warm sand. Before the war, he had never been to the beach or seen the ocean. The first time he'd laid eyes on the ocean with its endless horizon, he was overwhelmed by the unfathomable beauty of it. The tangy salt air, the coastline that was at once unchanging and yet different every day, the constant push and pull of the tides were all so invigorating and so unlike the landlocked area where he grew up. If he survived the war, he told himself, he wanted to live near the beach, on the beach if possible. How could he possibly go back to being buttoned up by highways and farms and the grocery store when another life of surf and sand was waiting for him? The horrors of war in the Pacific had radically changed his opinion of the seashore, though, and now, he didn't want anything more to do with it. While he was in the Seabees, he worked around the clock with his unit, under the constant threat of death, busting his hump with the wretched sand in every orifice of his body, fighting the forces of nature and the enemy to build landing strips and military instillations on forgotten, previously useless beaches only to have the Japs blow their hard work to smithereens in mere seconds, and they'd have to start all over again. He'd never forget the screaming shells and the way they sent the ocean churning and the deep craters they hollowed out on the beach. He'd never forget the battles that went on around him, often while he continued to work, and the men who fought and fell in defense of the beaches. He would never forget the last day, the final day, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much he tried.

Ward was in San Diego because the military deposited him here once they were done with him. He stayed only because he didn't want to go back to Indiana. Combat wounds and battle fatigue had induced a type of inertia in him that made leaving San Diego seem impossible, although staying wasn't what he wanted to do, either. Ward was well aware refusing to go home was selfish of him. He constantly beat himself up over it. His mother constantly beat him up over it. His parents had suffered unendurable loses, too, and his distancing himself only made it that much worse for them, but he couldn't live his life for other people. If he went home, he'd wind up running the grocery store and marrying Helen or some other unsuitable girl. He wanted more.

If Ward went home, he'd be confronted head on with the absence of Wallace, too. The great thing about San Diego was that he had never been there with Wallace. There was no school yard, no baseball field, no favorite fishing hole; nothing previously shared by him and his brother, or any of his other buddies for that matter. Wallace wasn't the only boy from his hometown who was lost. Cliff Fairgate, who graduated from high school with Ward was killed in action in France. Tommy Smith, a local doctor's son, was killed in Corregidor. Milton Reed, two years older than Ward, was missing in action. The Cleavers weren't alone in their grief, but this was cold comfort to Ward. Being in San Diego, away from the pain and loss, was a comfort.

The last time Ward was home, for Wallace's memorial service, he couldn't stomach sleeping in his own bedroom. Since there was no body to bury, Cleav and Irina put off the memorial until Ward was able to be there. Ward didn't want to go. As long as he was in San Diego, he didn't have to face life without his brother. In his mind, Ward knew Wallace was dead. He wasn't crazy. But in his heart, Ward could ignore the cold, hard facts. Wallace existed in a kind of mist, not alive, but not really gone, either. If Ward went home, the mist would surely evaporate and he would be left completely without his brother. Without having to witness the actual funeral, without having to be where Wallace should be but wasn't, it was possible to avoid the irrevocable fact of Wallace's death. However, Ward's parents wouldn't let him avoid it forever. They refused to hold the service without him. Ward's own vicarious health allowed him to sidestep it for a few weeks, but eventually, his doctor betrayed him by not only clearing him to travel, but also, by telling his father as much. Ward had no choice but to go home with him.

Up until the war parted them, Ward slept in a twin bed across from Wallace his entire life. Wanting to wait for Ward to come home before disposing of Wallace's belongings, his parents had left their bedroom exactly as it was when their sons left for war. The only difference was since Ward left first, Wallace had taken the opportunity to scatter his stuff in what was supposed to be Ward's side of the room. Ward found his books tottering in stacks against the wall. His bookshelf the new home for spark plugs, filters, and other greasy parts that Wallace amassed for his oft broken down jalopy. An old quilt Wallace liked to snuggle up with while he listened to the radio was draped across the foot of Ward's bed. Wallace's vast collection of colognes and hair tonics were on Ward's side of the dresser. It didn't matter. Ward had given up trying to keep Wallace's junk out of his territory years ago. The hideous moose head that Wallace saved from the garbage heap was still hanging on the wall above Wallace's bed, his baseball cap hanging from an antler. Shoelaces attached to Wallace's smelly sneakers were sticking out from under the bed. It was impossible to open their closet without sports equipment of every type tumbling out, both Ward's and Wallace's, but mostly Wallace's. Ward mainly stuck to football and baseball. Wallace dabbled in every sport known to man. Cleav loved sports, too, so getting their father to order anything from hockey sticks to fencing equipment was an easy trick for charming, athletic Wallace.

The heavyweight sucker punch came when Ward opened his bureau drawer and found Wallace's clothes. Sweaters neatly folded, socks rolled into precise balls, shirts starched and pressed as if Wallace would be there any minute to get ready for a date. For all of Wallace's slovenly ways, with the exception of his beat up sneakers, he kept his clothes in pristine condition. Wallace always said he liked to look good and smell good for the ladies. Staying in the room that screamed Wallace at the top of its lungs was impossible for Ward so he took Wallace's quilt and bunked on the couch. The only things that got him through the visit were the stupefying effects of his injuries and the medications that treated them, an assortment of pill bottles as vast as Wallace's cologne collection.

The memorial service was held on a miserable early spring day. The wind howled as if it was in mourning for Wallace, too, and light rain laced with the last snow of the season peppered down. Though they lacked a body, the family was still going through the motions of burying a casket containing some of Wallace's belongings. Photographs, Wallace's high school diploma, and military paraphernalia were poor substitutes for the young man himself. The minister droned on with a eulogy only family members were listening to while Irina noisily wept and everyone else wished they could get home out of the rain and cold. The trip from San Diego to Indiana aggravated Ward's wounds. Nearly brought to his knees by the cold, his grief, and the physical pain, Ward thought he might literally die. Perhaps, they could stuff him into Wallace's casket and bury him while they were at it. After all, there was plenty of room. Kill two birds with one stone.

Three days later, Ward was hospitalized with an infection. Lucky for him, the infection necessitated his return to the military hospital in San Diego. Otherwise, his parents would have forced him to stay and continue his recovery with the local doctors. Ward couldn't stay then, and he couldn't stay now. He couldn't survive Indiana unless June was at his side. If Ward couldn't have June, he didn't want anything.

Ward looped his arm through June's and they set off down the beach, shoes dangling from the fingers of their free hands. She seemed stiff and uneasy walking there silently next to him like she expected him to bite her head off any second. His behavior had been erratic at best, and he didn't blame her for being wary of him.

After several minutes, he said, "Hydrotherapy was part of my rehabilitation. Water is easy on the joints. I started out in a tub that propelled water around me, like a massage. That wasn't bad at all. Next, it was a swimming pool. That pool was a terrifying to me as a Japanese air raid. I used to be a strong swimmer, but I had to have help just keeping my head above the water. It was a slow, difficult process. After I mastered the pool, I moved on to the ocean for more of a challenge. The military hospital has a site on a beach designated for the therapy. The area is part of a residence. The owners are nice enough to let the hospital use their private beach, but they have two teenage girls who used to sit on the deck and heckle us. They had nicknames for all the guys. One solider had lost an eye. They called him One-eyed Jack. One-eyed Jacks are wild, they said."

June shook her head with dismay at the cruelty of the girls. "Didn't anyone say something to them or tell their parents?"

"We're supposed to be tough soldiers. Some guys honestly didn't care. Thought they were funny. Maybe, that's why the girls kept it up, because most of us laughed and joked back like it didn't bother us. Nobody was going to go crying to our therapists or their parents no matter how much what they said hurt. They called me the Worm Man because they said my back looks like it has worms crawling all over it. I couldn't hide my injuries. I wasn't allowed to wear a shirt because it restricted my movement. The name calling wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the day I got caught in a rip current. The attendants were preoccupied with a sailor who became hysterical on his first day at the ocean. He was fished out of the Pacific after being stuck on a raft for over two weeks after his ship was torpedoed. He was the only one left; his crewmates on the raft with him had died. Poor guy saw all that water and flipped his lid. Everyone was watching him, me included. I guess I wasn't paying attention to what was going on around me. Before I knew it, I was swept away out of reach. I tried to swim out of it, but I quickly became too weak to keep myself afloat. It all happened so fast. I honestly thought I was going to drown."

"Oh, no! How did you make it out?"

"The girls jumped in and saved me. You can't imagine how humiliating it was for me to be saved by two teenage girls. They dragged me onto the beach, and I'll always remember the looks on their faces when they got an up close and personal view of my back. They were horrified. The girls weren't that much younger than I was, and I knew that any woman who saw me…well, she would be horrified, too. Like you were."

June leaned into him and gave him a little bump with her shoulder. "I was not horrified."

"I saw your face, June. You were horrified."

"No, not horrified. Sorry, sympathetic."

"Pity is as bad as horrified," he countered flatly, "if not worse."

"That's not what I mean. What I'm trying to say is I'm sorry you had to suffer something so terrible and so painful."

"Just skip it, okay?" Ward responded more gruffly than he intended, but it was hard to keep a lid on his anger. He was angry a lot these days. He wasn't angry at June for being curious or sympathetic. Her sweet nature was one of the qualities he loved most about her. She was genuinely the kindest person he had ever met. Everyone at the diner liked June because she was so gracious and kind. Big, burly truck drivers who harassed Trixie, Tiny, and Harriet unmercifully with unwelcome advances and rude jokes treated June with respect once they realized what kind of person she was. Ward wasn't angry with June or with the girls at the beach. He was angry at the war for ruining everything – his body, his life, even his sleep. He changed the subject by asking, "Where is everybody? I couldn't find you or anybody. I thought we were supposed to escort your sisters to the airport."

"I got ready in Pamela's room. I told her about what happened this morning."

"You told her? About me? Do you always tell her everything?"

"Yeah, I tell her just about everything. Pam was my best friend," she added almost inaudibly, "up until you." If Ward heard her, he didn't show it, so she continued, "Since I didn't know if you'd be, uh, up to it, Pam got Jonathan to have one of his friends drive them to the airport. Nelson tagged along, too. It seems he and Peggy may be becoming an item."

The notion that he might be June's best friend caused Ward's heart to dance a little jig, but what she said about Nelson and Peggy distracted him. He stopped mid step and turned to face her. "June, you should warn Peggy about Nelson's legs. I can't stand to think what it do to him if she saw them and –"

She took his hand and said, "Ward, I don't know about California girls, especially those awful girls at the beach, but the Bronson girls from Illinois aren't so easily scared away. Peggy hasn't had an easy time of it, either. She came down with polio when she was four, and she's had to wear those heavy braces on her legs ever since. Peggy tries to act like it doesn't bother her when she isn't invited to dances or she's overlooked at parties, but I know it hurts her. When someone is sick or crippled, people often treat them like they don't exist. It happens to her all the time."

"Fair enough. I'll keep my nose out of it."

"Besides, Peggy won't turn eighteen for another few months. My father will kill Nelson if he tries anything before then."

Ward laughed, "By the way, where are your parents? I didn't see them at the hotel this morning, either."

"Out arranging one more surprise before they leave."

"Another surprise?" he groaned, "I don't think I can take another one of their surprises."

"How bad could it be? They're definitely leaving this evening, I checked. I called the airport to confirm their flight and everything. As long as they aren't planning to move in with us until the baby is born, I think we can handle whatever they have in mind."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

Ward thought he was home free. They were in a cab on the way to the airport, and so far, nobody had mentioned anything about a surprise. Perhaps, it had fallen through. They left the hotel quite a bit early, in more than enough time for June's parents to make their flight. Hopefully, the surprise, if there indeed was a surprise after all, was a going away dinner at yet another expensive restaurant. The silver lining to the Bronsons' visit, aside from marrying June, was that he had eaten like a king. After several more miles, distant alarm bells began to chime in the back of Ward's mind as it slowly dawned on him that they were getting no closer to the airport, nor were they in the proximity of any restaurant, expensive or otherwise. The alarm bells were blaring by the time the car came to a stop at the end of a winding street in front of a small house. With its light green paint and yellow trim, the little bungalow was, as Mabel squealed as they exited the cab, _absolutely charming._

"Junie," her father announced proudly, "this is our surprise."

"A house?" June asked with mouth gaping as confusion turned into shock.

Mr. and Mrs. Bronson trooped up the front steps hand in hand while the stunned younger couple lagged behind. Mr. Bronson produced a key from his pants pocket and opened the door with a flourish. "How do you like your new home?"

"Mr. Bronson, I can't possibly afford –"

Mr. Bronson raised his hands as if to head off any protests. "I've already signed a year's lease."

"But–"

"We won't take no for an answer."

Mabel took June's arm and eagerly pulled her into the house. "Oh, Junie, wait until you see the darling little kitchen! And there's a bedroom perfect for a nursery!"

Mr. Bronson pushed Ward back down the steps. "Come on, son, let's go take a look at the yard. There's a toolshed out back…"

Ward started in with another argument as he trailed after Mr. Bronson to the backyard. He couldn't afford a house, and he absolutely would not live off their charity. It had galled him to let June's parents pay for his wedding suit, much less a house. Then again, he remembered he wasn't actually married to June so he wouldn't be living here, anyway. Would he? Would he be responsible for June after her parents left? How far was June planning to carry this charade? He wanted it to go on forever, but still, he couldn't afford this house.

Mr. Bronson opened the door to the shed and while peering inside, causally said, "I already told you, Ward, we won't take no for an answer."

"But –" Ward stopped short when it registered that Mr. Bronson called him by his real name. "Ward?" he asked, making an effort to sound confused, "My name's Charlie."

"Your name is Ward. I may have a little less hair than I used to and what I have may be turning gray, and I may have to wear glasses to read, but I can still hear perfectly well. During the wedding ceremony, you called yourself Ward."

"Yes, Ward Charles Stivers," he replied weakly, beads of cold sweat popping out on his forehead. "I prefer Charlie."

"I know your name is Ward Cleaver so you may as well stop denying it. I got the whole sordid story out of Pamela before she left for the airport. Pamela would make a good Catholic. She eventually confesses almost everything. Unfortunately, she's more inclined to confess other people's sins than her own. I know June followed Charlie Stivers here to San Diego. I know this Stivers," he hesitated, a disgusted, helpless expression shadowing his features as he spit out the bitter words, "impregnated her. I know June somehow recruited you to impersonate him while her mother and I were visiting. Did I miss anything?"

"No, sir," Ward answered, too ashamed to look him directly in the eyes.

"Are you certain? It's in June's, as well as her mother's, best interests if I know everything so don't hold back now."

"You know everything, sir. You have my word."

"Forgive me, if I don't think your word or June's, for that matter, is worth much. Damn it!" he exploded, violently slamming the door to the shed. The metal door produced a sharp, reverberating bang. He looked back at the house to see if he had drawn the ladies' attention and lowered his voice to a caustic hiss. "I can't believe my little girl has done something so…so…reprehensible! Running after trash, getting pregnant, and inventing a Machiavellian plot to hide her sins! Of all my daughters, I would have never believed June capable of something like this. She's the most transparent of the three."

"It was wrong of us to deceive you, but, please, try not to be angry. June's scared to death. I sincerely regret my part in this. For lying to you, I mean. Try not to blame her. June doesn't want you to be hurt or disappointed in her or for her baby to be a…to be…fatherless."

"For the past few hours, I've been going back and forth assigning blame, and ultimately, I blame myself. I should have kept a closer eye on June. I shouldn't have sent her off to St. Paul with Pamela. Lord knows Pam isn't a responsible babysitter or good example to follow as far as men go, but I thought June would be a good influence on Pam. Keep Pam out of trouble. June is so innocent… I never dreamed…"

"Mr. Bronson, I think it's just one of those things. Nobody is to blame." Except Charlie Stivers.

"No, this behavior isn't the June I know, isn't my little girl. It must be something else. June must have needed something her mother and I didn't give her to cause this. Parents shouldn't have favorites, and Mabel and I don't, really, but Pamela has always been a daddy's girl. She's the most like me – hotheaded, a little hard, a little too self-centered. Pam and I understand each other even if I don't always agree with her actions. Peggy's the baby, and Mabel has always kept her close by her side because of the polio. Is it possible June felt left out or not loved as much and went looking for whatever she was missing in Charlie Stivers?"

It was all Ward could do not the squirm under the hot lamps of Mr. Bronson's pain filled eyes. "Sir, I know being sorry doesn't begin to make up for the lies, but it's all I know to say."

Anger surpassed introspection, and Mr. Bronson's voice started to rise again. "What I don't understand is what the devil do you and June think you're doing? How can you possibly believe your ridiculous plan will end well? My god, you actually went through with a wedding ceremony! You and my daughter may not be a real bride and groom, but Jack Hollins is a real minister and those were real vows you took. Why didn't you simply tell us the truth? It would have been difficult, but now the situation is so much worse."

Ward felt like a broken record, but he repeated the same lines to June's father that he had been repeating to Pamela, Nelson, and to himself since this started. "If Charlie doesn't come back, she can say her husband was killed in the war. If he does, well, I'm sure she and Charlie can come up with something to explain it away."

Forgetting himself, Mr. Bronson hammered his fist into the side of the shed. "My daughter was raised better than this! She _is _better than this! I cannot comprehend how this could have happened!"

Ward sent up a silent prayer that Mr. Bronson wouldn't turn his fists on him. "Things like this are happening all over," he reasoned as calmly as he could, hoping June's father would take the cue. "Good girls are getting into trouble. The war makes everything seem so much more urgent. Men are convinced they're going to die, and they convince their sweethearts. Then, they do things they normally would have waited to do. Also, there are men like Charlie Stivers who are out to take advantage. I haven't met Stivers, but I think he must be a pretty smooth talker. He used June."

Ward's calm manner and rational explanation did rub off on Mr. Bronson. His fists unclenched and his breathing began to normalize. His mind journeyed back to when he was a young man in the military. He was married at the time, but he knew plenty of men who had used the war as a tool to take unfair advantage of women. What Ward said was spot on, he realized, and his anger at June diffused, but did not disappear. "You seem wise beyond your years. So how did a wise fellow like you get involved in a mess like this?"

"I love June, Mr. Bronson. It may sound silly, but I fell for your daughter over a doughnut and a spilled cup of coffee."

Mr. Bronson's forehead knitted with consternation over Ward's foolish declaration. Were all young people impulsive idiots or was it only his daughters and their associates who couldn't control themselves?

Sensing he was losing ground, Ward hastily soldiered on, "It's a long story, but we became friendly and she came to me desperate for help. I didn't think there would be any real harm in posing as Charlie for a few days. I thought she could pass it off as a big joke later. It was like a game to me until I actually got to know you and your wife. I didn't know about the baby until Mrs. Bronson spilled the beans during dinner. By then, it seemed too late to change course. I considered telling you the truth myself, but in the end, it was June's choice to make, not mine." And not Pamela's, Ward wanted to say, but didn't.

"Ward," Mr. Bronson said urgently, "you have to keep up this farce, as foolhardy as it is, for Mabel's sake. If Mabel finds out what June has done, it will kill her. An accidental pregnancy is bad enough, but lies on top of lies about a false marriage…She wouldn't survive it. I won't have my wife's remaining time marred by scandal and disgrace. After I found out the truth this morning, I all but got down on my knees and begged June to come home with us. The situation would be much easier to contain in Chicago. We could tell everyone her husband is overseas fighting in the war, but she flatly refused to consider it. She's as stubborn as I am."

"June knows you know?" Ward asked with surprise. Why didn't she warn him?

"No, no. I didn't tell her I that I'm on to her lies. There isn't enough time before we leave to hash this out without Mabel figuring out something is wrong."

Ward already felt sick. Now, he felt worse. June doesn't want to leave because she can't let go of Charlie. So much for his stupid fantasy about riding off into the sunset with June, leaving Charlie in the dust. "Mr. Bronson, is the baby why you won't tell June about her mother? Because I think June –"

"Not many people know this," Mr. Bronson interrupted in a softer, wistful tone, "but there was another child after Peggy. A son. He wasn't planned, but he was desperately wanted just the same. He was born too early, and he died. Mabel was under a great deal of pressure at the time. We survived the stock market crash thanks to the wisely invested inheritance my father left me, but we weren't left unscathed. Obviously, banking wasn't the best profession to be in. I lost my job. I was out of work for almost two years. We were afraid we were going to have to sell the house and move back to South Carolina with my mother." With a sardonic smile he quipped, "Frankly, that probably would have caused a divorce. Mabel and my mother have never mixed well. I was lucky to get back on my feet within a few years, but at first, when everything was falling apart, the uncertainty about the future was excruciating. Nobody knew how long the depression would last. On top of everything else, Mabel's mother suffered from dementia for many years. She didn't recognize her own husband or her children, but Mabel's father refused to put her away. Mabel's siblings are far flung so it was left up to her care for her mother. And for Peggy, too. By this time, she had come down with polio. We've always believed the strain was too much, and we lost our son because of it. We won't risk our grandchild by upsetting June with news she can do nothing about. As disappointed as I am in my daughter, my heart breaks for her. She must be going through hell already, knowing about her mother would only make it worse."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know about your son. June hasn't mentioned it."

"The girls never knew. They were very young, June and Peggy, especially. We were going to save the news for a Christmas surprise. Something to brighten up the otherwise dismal holidays." He shrugged sadly, "We bought them a puppy instead."

"I'm sorry," Ward repeated.

"It was a long time ago. We're not the only ones who have lost a child. My sister, Jenny, lost a baby, too, as have millions of other people, including your own parents. It's pointless to dwell on the past."

Mr. Bronson abruptly switched the subject back to the original topic. "Since June won't listen to reason, we're going to have to circle the wagons. We need to keep June's marriage a secret. Well, not a secret exactly, it's too late for that, but vague. The fewer people who know about it the better. We don't want anyone asking a lot of specific questions about the groom. Later on, when the baby comes and people start finding out, we'll act as if her marriage is old news, something over and done with and nothing special anymore." He launched into a high-pitched breathless imitation of a gossipy woman, "_Oh, didn't you hear? June got married last year in San Diego. Now, a baby! Isn't it too sweet?_ Pamela is busy with her life in St. Paul so June's marriage will mean little to her. Poor Peggy doesn't have much of a social life, but I don't want her to know everything until she has to. She's almost grown, but she still has a childish streak, and I don't completely trust her." His face fell, "And Mabel…Mabel won't be getting out as much as she used to, but keeping her quiet may prove impossible. She's absolutely thrilled about becoming a grandmother. Says she feels like she could live to be a hundred now." Mr. Bronson rubbed his face. "If only that were possible. I wouldn't care what skeletons came out. Would I be willing to sacrifice my daughter to save my wife?" he asked the air. "God forgive me, I would."

"Sir, I –"

He waved Ward off and getting back on track continued, "You've given me an idea for another lie. There's no percentage in letting world believe June is married to Charlie Stivers. I'm going to tell Mabel and Peggy your name is Ward Charles Stivers, like you said. It's actually what I assumed during the wedding until Pamela told me the truth. We'll say Charlie is a nickname from when you were a child, but you prefer Ward, and we'll switch over to it. Later, after Mabel…after she's gone, we'll start calling you Ward Cleaver. Cleaver, Stivers, the names could be easily confused, right? Both contain the letter v. If anyone questions us, we'll say they are confused…misunderstood the name…whatever. As long as June is married to someone, the old biddies in our circle can't wag their tongues too much about when the baby was conceived. What will they know about what happened in California, anyway? Once June becomes a divorcee it won't make any difference. Divorce carries a certain stigma, but I won't allow her pretend her husband is dead. It would be a slap in the face to those who have died in the service of our country."

No, Ward didn't think Cleaver and Stivers were easily confused names, but he was beginning to see where June got her conniving streak. "But, Mr. Bronson, your plan won't work."

"Why not?"

"If Charlie Stivers comes back, you can't call him Ward."

"If Charlie Stivers comes back," Mr. Bronson replied icily, "he's a dead man." He turned his back on Ward for a few seconds. When he faced Ward again, his rage was masked by a taut smile, but the rage still smoldered there in eyes. "I don't approve of June's actions, but I do appreciate you standing by her. Trust me, if you will continue to do so until we have her safely extracted from this situation, I'll make it worth your while."

"Absolutely not!" Ward blurted out with hackles rising. Didn't he tell Mr. Bronson only a few minutes ago that he loves June? The suggestion his loyalty to her could be bought and sold was highly offensive. "I'll stand by June as long as she needs me. I won't take payment for it. Not now, not ever!"

Mr. Bronson found Ward's sincere vehemence mildly amusing, but he was pleased that the young man seemed to have a backbone. Hopefully, he could be trusted to care for June, at least for the time being.

"About the house –"

"I will be taking care of all the expenses. Ward, I'm not a rich man, the crash put a stop to any aspirations I might have had of great wealth, but I'm well off, and I can afford to do this. I won't allow my daughter to remain in that dreadful apartment in that questionable neighborhood, and that's all there is to it. I pay for Pamela's upkeep in St. Paul. This isn't any different. I'm not the type of person who believes in hoarding one's money. I believe money should be spent and enjoyed, but we do not live extravagantly. We have a nice home, drive nice cars, wear nice clothes, take a nice vacation every year, and provide nicely for our children. When Mabel and I are gone, our three girls should get nice, but not lavish, inheritances." He stopped talking for a second, a look of utter despair spread over his face, then said hoarsely as though trying not to cry, "My goal used to be to live to be one hundred at the very least, but these days, I'm hoping for only one minute past Mabel. I want to be whatever comfort I can be to her until the end, then I want just enough time to wrap her in my arms before I go, too."

Moved, Ward reached out to touch Mr. Bronson's arm, but Mr. Bronson sidestepped him. "I'm sorry. I'm being ridiculous." He instantly pulled himself together. "I suppose it isn't risking too much to tell you that Peggy will be inheriting the house and most of the money. Although, given June's situation, I've decided to amend my will to state that Pamela and June are allowed to live in the house with Peggy should they desire. There will be modest monetary provisions for Pamela and June, of course, but Peggy will get the lion's share of the estate, whatever is left of it. She'll need it because of her physical limitations. Even if she marries, she has ongoing medical expenses and will have to have help keeping house. This isn't ideal or necessarily fair to Pamela and June, but I don't know what else to do. Ultimately, I can't afford to buy three houses or to support all three of them indefinitely. I expect Pam and June to marry," he gave Ward a pointed look, "_legitimately_ sooner or later. If not, they'll have to come home and find some type of work. I'm convinced Pamela can take care of herself, and June is proving to be more self-reliant than I expected. I made this little speech just so you'll understand that if you're a fortune hunter, you're barking up the wrong tree."

"No, sir, no, of course not!" Ward swore emphatically.

"Oh, and one more thing," Mr. Bronson gripped Ward firmly by his bad shoulder, his expression deadly serious. He leaned in so close Ward could feel the man's hot breath on his cheek. "As far as June's virtue goes, it does no good to shut the barn door after the horse has already bolted, but my daughter is still a lady, and I expect you to treat her like one. Your unorthodox arrangement doesn't give you the right to, shall we say, take liberties. The bungalow has two bedrooms. One for June. One for the baby. Unless and until your marriage becomes absolutely legal in every way, you'll be sleeping in your own bed in your own home. If anyone in San Diego has any questions about her husband, June will have to make up a story. She's certainly got a talent for it. Understand?"

Ward vigorously nodded his head, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "I understand, sir. You don't have to worry. I won't…that is…we won't…I promise you I will legally marry June if we…"

Mr. Bronson squeezed Ward's shoulder. Ward braced himself, fully expecting his arm to be wrung off, and stopped babbling. After a few tense seconds, Mr. Bronson released him saying, "Let's go in. We've been out here looking at this damn toolshed far too long."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

The next few weeks drifted by in a peaceful, uneventful haze. June didn't miss working at the diner and was content making her little house into a nest for her and her baby. She happily spent her days browsing through thrift stores for furniture and items to make the bungalow feel like her own. In St. Paul, she and Pamela lived in a hotel, taking their meals in the hotel's restaurant, and Pam had ruled the roost. June loved having the cozy house her father provided all to herself. It was heady freedom to make her own decisions, to decorate with things that she liked, to eat what she wanted to eat, to go where she wanted to go without having to defer to anyone else. June discovered quite by accident that she was adept at refurbishing old furniture after she saved an ancient bookcase someone left out on the curb for the garbage collector. Ward helped her carry it home, and after some sanding and staining and a few nails, the bookcase was as good as new. She worked her magic on a highchair, a coffee table, and a dilapidated desk. When Mr. Philpot, the owner of one the thrift stores she frequented, stopped by to drop off a chair she purchased to go with the desk, he was so impressed with her work, he hired her to redo some of the pieces he had for sale in his shop.

When June wasn't working at her spontaneous furniture restoration business, she spent her time sewing clothes for the baby and making dinner for Ward. She found immense satisfaction in cooking. She loved experimenting with new recipes and trying to make them turn out exactly right. Grandmother Agatha insisted on teaching her and her sisters how to cook and sew when they visited her in South Carolina during breaks from school. June was the only sister who showed any aptitude or interest in learning the domestic arts, making her grandmother proud.

Ronald, her only son, marrying a flibbertigibbet from Chicago, however bright and sparkly, had been a bitter pill for Agatha Bronson to swallow. A nice, plain girl from Columbia would have suited Ronald so much better. She should have never allowed him to attend college out of state. If so, he would have never met Mabel. He'd still be living in Columbia, taking care of her in her golden years, which was how it should be. Thanks to her efforts, at least one of Ronald's daughters wouldn't turn out to be flighty and helpless like their mother. The Depression proved that no matter how much money one had, it still paid to know how to fend for oneself.

The housekeeping skills June learned from grandmother came in handy, for another thing she found she loved, was taking care of Ward. Three nights a week he had classes after work, but on the other evenings, he almost always could be found at the bungalow. The days passed pleasantly enough, but June found herself counting the hours until Ward arrived. They had fallen into their own routine of contented domesticity. He bought groceries and items she needed from the drugstore on his way home from work. Occasionally, he surprised her with flowers or a box of candy. The chatted about their day while he did his homework at the kitchen table and June made dinner.

Ward enjoyed his business classes, but he loathed his Wednesday night literature class. June was good at lit, and she often checked over his homework and helped him study for tests. She fired off questions about dry as dust 19th century novels as well as any battleax teacher he'd had in the past. June was obviously extremely intelligent, and Ward thought it a shame that she wasn't going to college, too. On Saturdays, he used the money he saved by not eating the Hungry Man Special every morning at Dewey's to take June to the movies. He liked gangster pictures and she liked sappy romantic melodramas so they mostly saw sappy romances, but he didn't mind as long he was with June.

Anything was better than the cold cuts or the franks and beans Ward survived on at his apartment, but June's cooking rivaled that of his mother, who was an excellent cook, and he heartily enjoyed everything June prepared for him. To show his appreciation, he always helped her with the dishes. The blue apron with the pink rosebuds and lace trim he wore to protect his suit never failed to get a giggle out of her. Afterward, they usually spent the rest of the evening on the front porch. The ocean was very near her house so they could hear the surf and catch the salty breezes. They opened the front windows and turned the radio up loud enough so they could hear it outside. Sitting in the porch swing with Ward, sipping Cokes and listening to the radio, was June's favorite time of day. They laughed at comedies like 'Charlie McCarthy' and 'Jack Benny', then turned the channel to music. Ward stretched out his legs and used his toe to keep the swing in a gentle, lazy sway. When he rested his arm on the back of the swing behind June, the light brush of his arm across her shoulders was a warm, welcome tease of what could come. June anticipated it, always hoping his arm would find its way around her. Sometimes, when Ward was particularly relaxed and having a good time, his arm would slip around her without him realizing what he was doing, but most of the time it didn't.

Ward wanted to touch June. He wanted to kiss her and hold her and pour out his heart to her, but he couldn't. She was Charlie's girl, not his. She didn't act much like Charlie's girl. She never mentioned him anymore. She had long since stopped talking about a future with Charlie. June never brought up the subject of marrying Charlie or speculated on what would happen when Charlie came home from the war like she used to do when Ward first met her. Ward didn't think she was writing to Charlie, but he couldn't be sure.

Evenings with June were Ward's favorite time of day, too. She was so lovely and she smelled heavenly and he loved talking with her. Since he felt he had no right to romance June, Ward settled for dancing with her. After dark so the neighbors couldn't see, they transformed the porch into their own private ballroom. While dancing, Ward could hold June. He could kiss her hair without her knowing it and fanaticize about doing things with her that never felt as right in the past as they did with June. His favorite song was Glenn Miller's 'String of Pearls' because it put him in mind of the hollow at the base of June's throat. The hollow was a constant source of temptation for his lips, and he intended to put a beautiful pearl necklace there someday. That is, if he got the chance.

Ward wasn't quite as good a dancer as Charlie. Charlie really knew how to cut a rug, but June liked dancing with Ward so much better. She adored the way Ward held her while they were dancing. He made her feel valued as if the experience meant more than a mere dance to him. On the other hand, Ward was always a perfect gentleman. She never had to worry about where his hands were going to end up like with Charlie, and this often made her question if she was attractive to Ward. If Ward cared for her, wouldn't he want to touch her like Charlie did? Charlie called her an iceberg. Was he right? Was she doing things, things she didn't even realize she was doing, to freeze Ward out? Why couldn't she be more fun like Pamela? Pamela wouldn't have Ward stuck out on a porch. She'd take him to a night club and dance the night away. Pam would whirl and twirl and end up leading the conga line. Ward would never be bored with Pam. Well, dancing on the porch may be boring to Ward, but June decidedly was not bored dancing with him. She loved resting her head on his shoulder and breathing in the subtle, spicy fragrance of his cologne and feeling his solid body against hers. The music never failed to carry her away to another realm where she could relax and forget about everything. While they were dancing, she wasn't a fallen woman teetering on the edge of disaster. She was just a regular girl enjoying herself with a regular guy. She used to hate being a regular person. Now, she would do anything to be a regular person again.

When it was time for Ward to go home, June packed him a brown paper bag with leftovers for his lunch the next day. Leaving was always awkward for Ward. He wanted to take June in his arms and kiss her like he did at the wedding, but he didn't dare press his luck. He half-expected Charlie to show up and ruin everything he was trying to build with her.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

June cherished her new life and didn't want it to come to an end. She tried not to dwell on what her life might be like if she wasn't pregnant, but it was difficult. If she wasn't pregnant she would be free to date Ward normally and openly. They could go to dances and parties like any other young couple. There would be no lies and secrets to keep. But, if it weren't for Charlie and the baby, she'd still be living in St. Paul with Pamela. She would have never met Ward.

Naturally thin, June carried her pregnancy extremely well, and nobody had guessed she was expecting yet. She was as good at sewing as she was at cooking. Pamela wouldn't be caught dead in a homemade dress, but June often made her own clothes. By letting out some seams and adding a few embellishments, she was able to put off wearing maternity dresses. A few pleats, a sash, or a wide belt hid her pregnancy quite nicely, but to her dismay, the end result was she looked chubby. June knew that looking fat was better than looking pregnant, but she mourned her trim figure. Would Ward still come around when she was as big as a house?

Hiding her pregnancy felt like lying, but life was easier by not bringing it up. If people knew a baby was on the way, she'd have to answer thorny questions about where the baby's father is. Ward was supposed to fulfill this role, and when her father rented the house for her, June assumed Ward would live there with her, but he had never mentioned moving in. After all, they were married, sort of. There was a bed in what was to be the baby's room, but she was too shy to offer it to him. Maybe, Ward didn't want to live there with her. Luckily, her neighbors seemed to ignore her. She doubted they would notice or care about her pregnancy. However, Mr. and Mrs. Philpot at the resale shop would be very interested. What if they started asking questions? Wasn't this the whole point of pretending to be married? June often had to remind herself, that no, this wasn't what Ward agreed to. He agreed to help her fool her family, nothing more. His frequent visits gave her hope that he would continue to be supportive, but maybe, he was just being nice. Maybe after the baby came, Ward wouldn't want to see her anymore.

What if Charlie comes back? She had promised to always be his girl, but she didn't feel much like his girl. She felt like Ward's girl. She wanted to be Ward's girl, but what if Charlie came home and her old feelings for him resurfaced? What would she say to Ward? Would Ward even care? What if she didn't want Charlie, but Charlie wanted the baby? What if Charlie turned Ward against her? The maybes and what ifs made June's heart pound in her ears so she tried not to think about them, but she knew there was a day of reckoning to come and it absolutely terrified her.

June loved her baby in an abstract way, but it hadn't become real to her yet, and she almost wished the baby could remain inside of her, like a beloved secret. The prospect of giving birth absolutely petrified her. When June was young, her Aunt Jenny gave birth at her grandmother's house, and June had been there. If she lived to be a thousand she wouldn't, couldn't forget her aunt's screams of agony during the birth, and in the end, the baby had died. Aunt Jenny was devastated. The incident was permanently seared onto June's brain. Ten year old June decided right then and there to never have a baby. She would concentrate on becoming a ballerina instead. She wasn't sure if ballerinas could have babies, anyway, since ballerinas needed to be skinny, and she had skinny in spades. But here she was a decade later, not only pregnant, but unmarried to boot. What if her baby died, too, like Aunt Jenny's? After everything she had done wrong, losing her baby would be a just punishment, the price she had to pay for her deceit. And what would happen after the baby was born, _if_ it was born? If her mother wasn't willing to come live with her for a while, she'd have to give up her little bungalow and to go back to Chicago to live with her parents. She didn't know the first thing about taking care of babies, and she would need her mother's help. But if she went back to Chicago, what would happen to her and Ward? He had become ingrained in the rhythm of her life. Their relationship had become so natural, like the moon and the tides. What would she do without him?

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

One evening in November, while Ward and June were in the middle of doing the dishes, the doorbell rang. Since June was up to her elbows in suds, he answered the door.

"It's a telegram," he told her, turning the envelope around in his hands to examine it.

June's face lit up. "I bet it's from Pamela. I got a letter from her yesterday. She said she has Jonathan right where she wants him and she expects a proposal any day. I bet you Pam has reeled him in."

Ward grinned back at her. "Or maybe it's about Peggy and Nelson. Judging from the epic letters they've been exchanging, it's only a matter of time before Peggy reels Nelson in. She can't turn eighteen fast enough for him."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go ahead. Open it."

He tore open the envelope and read the telegram. June watched his face fall. She dropped her dishcloth in the sink and came around the counter to stand in front of him. "What is it, Ward? What's wrong? Is it Peggy? Is she sick again? Did she fall? Pneumonia?"

Ward reread the telegram to make certain he hadn't misunderstood it and swallowed hard before saying, "I'm afraid its bad news, but it isn't about Peggy." He paused for a few seconds while he casted about for a way to soften the blow, but he couldn't think fast enough to outpace the fear rising in June's eyes and knew he was only adding to her anxiety by stalling. Before the telegram arrived, they were discussing the pros and cons of him accompanying her to Chicago to celebrate Thanksgiving with her parents. Unfortunately, it didn't look like there would be anything to celebrate. "It's your mother. She's had a heart attack."

June shook her head. "That can't be. My mother never gets sick. She gets headaches, sometimes, but other than that, she's never had a sick day in her life."

"No, she's been –" Ward stopped short of giving away the truth. He took June by the shoulders to settle her down, not wanting to tell her the rest. "I'm sorry, but it says…it says…your mother isn't expected to live. Your father wants you to come home right away."

"No!" She wriggled from his grasp. "There must be some mistake. This telegram must be for the people next door. I told you, my mother never gets sick."

He took her wet, soapy hands in his and held them close. "June, please, baby, listen to me. There's no mistake. The telegram is from your father. It has his name on it."

She stared at him for almost a full minute as if waiting for him to admit he was wrong and to take it back. When it finally sank in that he wasn't going to take it back, she asked with a crack in her voice, "Will you come to Chicago with me?"

Ward quickly filed through all the reasons he shouldn't go. If he missed work, he wouldn't get paid. If he didn't get paid, neither would his landlord. He had a big accounting test coming up soon. Most importantly, if he met the rest of her family and friends, it would make it even more difficult for June to explain him away later, which was the very topic they were discussing only minutes before regarding the Thanksgiving holiday. Knowing all this, he didn't hesitate to say, "Of course, I'll come with you. You pack your things while I make the travel arrangements."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

Ward held June's hand as they walked down the corridor to the waiting area near her mother's hospital room. She had hardly spoken two words during their trip to Chicago, and he was worried about her. When his mother was upset, everyone knew it. His girlfriend, Helen, had become completely hysterical when her grandfather died. As with June, he was the unlucky one who had to break the news of her grandfather's death to Helen. The tears Helen cried soaked the front of his shirt. Silence with pain was completely foreign to Ward. June had a punishing grip on his hand, and he squeezed hers back reassuringly as they stepped inside the dismal room where family was congregated. What would June do if they were too late?

Pamela rushed up to them. "It's about time you got here," she snapped with more anger than anguish. "You were supposed to be here hours ago!"

Ward waited for June to answer her sister, but June's glassy eyes were busy darting around the room, taking in the scene like a frightened rabbit. Peggy stood with a woman Ward didn't recognize staring glumly out a window. A man sat in a chair fidgeting with his collar and smoking a cigarette. An old woman with an enormous steel gray bun dressed in the manner of Queen Victoria glowered at Ward over the tops of her glasses with a look that would curdle milk. June's father wasn't there.

"We've been waiting all day," Pam added with more irritation and no compassion.

Ward spoke up for June, "Pamela, the delay wasn't our fault. Our plane was late. We were lucky to get a flight at all."

Manically switching from anger to sorrow, Pamela ignored him and threw herself into June's arms. "Oh, Junie, mother's going to die. She's been waiting for you. She's been telling us all goodbye, one by one."

Mr. Bronson, looking haggard and gray, appeared from a connecting hallway. He walked over and pulled both girls into a tight embrace, one on each side. He kissed June's forehead. "You made it. Thank god. Your mother's been asking for you. Let's go see her."

June felt her father tug at her hand, but she couldn't make her legs work. She had turned to lead and could not move.

Mr. Bronson turned to her and gripped her by her upper arms. "Darling, I know this is hard to take in, but they say your mother may not have much time left. You have to see her, now, while she's awake. While she's still able to talk. I think she's been holding on just to see you." He caught Ward's eye and gave him a meaningful nod.

After a gentle push to get her going, June let Ward usher her down the hallway, following her father to her mother's room.

They paused at the door. June waited for her father, expecting him to go in with her. "She wants to see you alone," he told her. "She's been seeing everyone alone. It's easier for her to say what she wants to say."

June bit her lip and looked pleadingly at Ward. "You come, too."

Ward met Mr. Bronson's eyes in silent question. Mr. Bronson nodded his assent. Ward took June's hand and led her into the room, trying not to be intimidated by the imminence of death. This was no time to be squeamish. Ward pulled a chair up to the bed and motioned for June to sit, but she was staring at her mother and made no effort to move. He all but physically bent June's limbs to fit her into the chair before stepping into the far corner and trying to fade into the wall.

Mabel lay in bed with her eyes closed as pale as the white sheet tucked up around her chin. June's stomach pitched with fear. How could this be happening? How could her mother be dying? How could she lose her when she needed a mother now more than ever? She gingerly took her mother's hand and Mabel's eyes fluttered open. "Mother, I'm here."

"Oh, Junie," Mabel rasped, her voice scratchy and thin, "I've been waiting for you. I'm so happy you came in time. There's so many things I want to say to you, but my head is fuzzy…" she weakly trailed off, "I can't think…"

"It's okay, you don't have to say anything. Just rest. Try to keep up your strength. You'll get better, and we can talk later."_ Please get better._

Mabel shook her head with a futile finality that tore her daughter's heart to shreds. Her mother was dying. _Now_. Not some vague someday in the future, _now_.

"I'm afraid I don't have the luxury of later." In fits and starts, Mabel slowly continued, "I want you to know that I'm so proud of you, darling. You married a good man, and you're going to be good mother, too. It's such a comfort to know that at least one of my girls is set."

Her use of the word proud clawed at June. She had done nothing to make her mother proud. Her actions over the past few months were worthy of shame, not pride. At least her mother would never know how far she had fallen.

Ward wanted to seep into the floor. Witnessing this intimate moment between a dying mother and her child didn't feel right. He didn't feel right about deceiving the poor woman on her deathbed, either. June wasn't set. She wasn't really married. What would happen later was anybody's guess. However, letting Mabel believe their lies was the only thing they could do. Mabel would die thinking her daughter was safe and happy. There were worse ways to go. But what were he and June doing to their immortals souls by lying to someone to whom they could never make amends? If he, in fact, succeeded in denying Charlie his child, it would be another black mark on his soul. Ward watched June closely, watched as she tried to be brave for her mother, watched as she kept her narrow shoulders ramrod straight to prevent herself from folding in half with sorrow. He would do absolutely anything for June. His own soul be damned.

Mabel licked her parched lips. June reached over to get the glass of water sitting on the metal table next to the bed, but Mabel refused it. "Never mind that. I just want to talk. I'm so disappointed I won't get to meet my first grandchild." In spite everything, the thought of her grandchild brought a glow to her face. "There are so many reasons I want to live a while longer, but next to Ronnie, your baby is the most important." Mabel took a rattling breath. Ward recognized the terrible sound. He had heard it on the battlefield. Her lungs were filling with fluid. "I…I know I wasn't always the most attentive mother. I wanted to see if I could do a better job as a grandmother."

"No, Mother, you were –"

Mabel reached out to brush her fingertip across June's lips. "Please, just listen, love. Let me say what I want to say while I'm still able to say it. I spent too much time with my activities…the Garden club, the Arts council, Ronnie's social schedule…There was always a party or a meeting to attend or an event to be planned…Always something keeping me on the run. Then when Peggy came down with polio, I threw myself into trying to cure her and raising money for the cause. What happened to her...I felt tremendously guilty. I felt it was my fault she got sick. I desperately wanted to make her illness up to her, and you and Pamela were often neglected."

"Mother, please, don't talk this way. You were a wonderful mother to me, to all of us."

Mable gripped June's hand hard through a coughing fit. When it was over, she wheezed, "You, especially, got left alone with Gussie too often. I had yet to become a society matron when Pam was a baby, and Peggy came along right after you. Such a busy time. It was Gussie who saw your first steps and heard your first word, helped you with your homework. Pam always demands attention when she wants it, and Peggy is often indulged because of her poor health. You were such a good daughter. So easy. Still are. Always ready to help with Peggy or your grandmother or with a kind word or deed. You never complain about anything, and you never caused us a moment's concern."

Never caused them a moment's concern until she ran off to San Diego and disappeared, June thought, guilt-ridden for worrying her parents more than her sisters had ever dared. How quickly her mother forgot.

"You weren't as difficult as your sisters, and you paid a price you shouldn't have had to pay."

"It doesn't matter," June said, knowing what her mother said was partially true. She couldn't bring herself to throw fits or insist on being the center of attention like her sisters did. When her parents seemed too busy, she simply didn't bother them. She went to Gussie with her homework problems and asked Gussie for advice on how to handle the mean kids at school. She listened to the radio programs her sisters wanted to listen to and played the games her sisters wanted to play. When Pamela wanted them to dress up as the three blind mice at Halloween, June did it without a fuss even though June wanted to be the tooth fairy instead. Going along to get along was easier than being the squeaky wheel.

Mabel looked at her sadly. "It does matter. Please, listen to me. Don't miss a thing with your family. Take care of your baby and your husband. Don't let a nanny or a housekeeper do your job for you. Your family is all that matters in the end." She took another long shuddering breath and closed her eyes.

"Mommy?" June yelped, terrified her mother had died.

The corners of Mabel's mouth hitched up in a barely there smile. "I'm still here, darling. Don't be afraid. You have such a sweet spirit, my beautiful girl. I love you, Junie."

"I love you, Mommy. So much."

"Go get you father now, darling. I need him."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

A very grim Thanksgiving dinner was eaten in the hospital cafeteria. The turkey didn't look or taste much like turkey and the mashed potatoes were cold and lumpy, but nobody noticed or cared. It certainly wasn't the holiday Ward had hoped for when the whimsical idea of spending Thanksgiving with June became a real possibility. He had already decided he wasn't going home for Thanksgiving. He felt bad about not seeing his parents, but a bus ride to Indiana was unimaginable to him. Ward simply didn't have the money for a plane ticket home, and he wouldn't ask his parents to pay for one, either. A summer storm had blown through town, destroying the roofs of both the grocery store and their house. Cleav and Irina would never admit they were hurting for cash, but Ward knew they were. Besides, he would have to miss several days of work and school, and the thought of what shape his back would be in after the trip was over was truly worrisome. He couldn't afford for his back to get out of whack, not with work and school to worry about. And June. Always June.

As far back as June could remember, the Bronsons' threw a huge Thanksgiving bash for their family and friends featuring a buffet-style feast with almost every food imaginable along with a drop-in house party for the ensuing holiday weekend. During the leanest years of the Depression, they were forced to scale back on the sumptuous feast, but the party always came off as scheduled.

June was surprised when she learned that this year, there would be no party. A quiet family dinner was planned instead. Since there would only be her parents and siblings in attendance, June wanted Ward to come home with her. Ward was reluctant, but there was no reason Charlie wouldn't come along with his wife, June argued. As far as the family knew, Charlie hadn't shipped out yet. Ward and June wanted to save the war card to play until absolutely necessary. They might need it for a bigger reason later on. For now, it was enough for her family to know that June was safe, albeit in a strange city across the country, with her husband.

Mabel had taken the liberty of booking two plane tickets so it seemed a shame to waste one of them, but Ward wasn't so sure it was a good idea for him to go to Chicago. Who knows who they might run into? Their fake marriage was like a hurricane spiraling ridiculously more and more out of control. Was it better to continue to fight it, to make logical decisions that might possibly save him trouble later on, or was it better to let himself get swept up into the growing chaos? Since the whole thing was bound to end in disaster, maybe it was better to enjoy the ride while it lasted. Selfishly, Ward had hoped June would decide not to make the trip. He wanted their first, and probably their last, Thanksgiving together to be special, just the two of them. Either something special for him to remember later on after he had lost her to Charlie or something special for the two of them to look back on after they had been married for forty or fifty years. He and June were talking over their plans when the telegram about Mabel arrived. Not only had Thanksgiving not turned out to be a special day for them, it had turned into a nightmare that would taint the holiday for June perhaps for the rest of her life.

Unconscious for days on end, Mabel's heart just wouldn't give up, until at last, the day after Thanksgiving, she peacefully passed away while Mr. Bronson held her hand. It seemed to Ward that _not _dying on Thanksgiving Day was in keeping with Mabel's gracious demeanor. June and her father carried on in stoic silence, accepting the inevitable as peacefully as Mabel's passing. Peggy and Pamela did not take their mother's death well, making it necessary for the other members of the family, especially June, to work extra hard to set aside their own unhappiness to keep the two girls propped up.

Given the Bronsons' place in society, Ward expected Mabel's funeral to be large with a lot of pomp and circumstance and guests. Again, Ward questioned the wisdom of his presence, but he couldn't distance himself from June, not when she needed his support more than ever. He was pleased and slightly amazed when the funeral turned out to be private, attended by only a handful of the family's closest relatives and friends. While Mabel lingered in the shadows between life and death, Ward kept a low profile in the hopes that if, by some miracle, Charlie and June ended up married someday, there wouldn't be too many people who knew the difference between the fake Charlie and the real Charlie. Both the phony and the real McCoy had dark hair and dark eyes and similar builds so Ward thought it reasonable that within a few months or years, if the war dragged on, memories of Charlie would be dim. This ship had sailed, of course, for the immediate family, but there was still a chance the charade would hold up for those outside their intimate circle. If the truth must be told, hopefully those closest to the Bronsons would keep the secret for the sake of the baby's future. Luckily, June's parents and siblings were the only branch of the family residing in Chicago. Mabel's parents were both deceased and her three siblings were scattered across the map. Only her brother and sister-in-law from St. Louis had made the trip to Chicago to wait with the family for her death knell. Mr. Bronson's side of the family lived in South Carolina and only his mother had come to Chicago to be with her son until the end. When visitors stopped by, Ward made himself scarce. When a brigade from the Women's Auxiliary invaded the waiting room or Mr. Bronson's work colleagues came around, Ward quietly slipped away for a smoke in the parking lot. Given the circumstances, there was no need to bring up the subject of June's marital status or impending motherhood to random visitors. Ultimately, dying proved to be a lonely business so there was usually the same small, sad handful of family members waiting in the waiting room or at Mabel's bedside.

Ward tried to stick close to June in an unobtrusive way, hovering at the ready offer his arms to hold her if she became distraught, but mostly, she sat quietly holding his hand, the force of her grip rising along with the tension. For the first few hours after her mother's death, June had moved like a zombie, reminding him of the stunned refugees he had seen wondering around bombed out villages during the war. After shaking off the initial blow, June recovered her wits and immersed herself in planning the funeral and the following memorial gathering, handling things her father and sisters seemed to be at a loss to grapple with, and Ward felt underfoot.

The day after the funeral, the family and friends who had been excluded from the service congregated at the Bronson home. Their home wasn't what Ward expected in the least. Even though June had led him to believe her family wasn't wealthy, he fully expected a mansion. The house was large and stylish, but it was no mansion. It was tastefully decorated and furnished, expensive but not extravagantly so. There was a quiet elegance that made the house seem affluent but still comfortable enough to be homey. His mother, Ward knew, would hate it. Irina would think it pretentious, and her sharp merchant's mind would have the total value of the joint tallied up in a matter of minutes. She would hold every costly, waste of money doodad personally against the family.

Unlike the funeral, the house was filled to the brim with family and friends. Ward couldn't keep them all straight. At first, he tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible in the hopes that no one would remember him plainly later on, but he gave up this strategy when he realized no one was paying any attention to him. Caterers were keeping trays of food circulating and the liquor flowing, and except for the immediate family who were still numb with grief, the memorial had taken on a party atmosphere.

Ward found it interesting to watch the Bronsons interact on their home turf. Mr. Bronson sat on the sofa with his head in his hands looking like a shock victim. At the hospital, he had been a steady, authoritative presence, but his wife's death had reduced him to a burned out shell. People approached him with their condolences and expressions of sympathy, but he scarcely acknowledged them. His mother, the old dragon Ward first met at the hospital, held court from a high backed chair at the other end of the living room. Unlike her son, she reveled in the attention; greedily accepting sympathy, complaining bitterly about everything from the weather to the music at the funeral, and issuing orders as if a queen upon her throne.

Pamela worked the room, alternating between dramatic attention getting exhibitions of grief and a jolly good time. Ward kept count of the drinks Pam knocked back while she mingled with the other mourners. Martinis, he noted, were Pamela's drink of choice. With three under her belt and counting, she was getting a bit plastered. Peggy was the most visibly upset. She spent the evening sitting next to her father, clinging to his arm with her head resting on his shoulder, while she dabbed at her teary eyes with his handkerchief. Apparently, Pamela didn't like the threat to her Daddy's Girl standing. Every so often, Pamela swooped down next to her father to root him away from Peggy's teary clutches. All the while, June moved quietly in the background, making sure the guests were being properly taken care of and overseeing the caterers. At one point during the evening, Ward tried to make her sit down and rest, but she shrugged him off, if anything, ramping up her efforts to be the 'good daughter'.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

"So, when are you going to tell everyone about the baby?" Peggy bluntly asked, blindsiding June when the three sisters found themselves alone together in the kitchen.

"You know?" June asked, too flabbergasted by the question to play dumb with her younger sister.

"Look at yourself in the mirror. It doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure it out."

"Don't worry, June, you can still pass for fat a little while longer," Pamela chimed in with a knowing wink.

Peggy turned to Pamela. "Can you believe June had a shotgun wedding? I might expect it of you, but not angelic little Junie."

"Shut up, Peg," Pamela retorted childishly, too tipsy to think of a more urbane response.

"Peggy," June said coolly, her calm appearance well concealing the anxiety brewing in the pit of her stomach, "you know perfectly well Charlie and I were married at City Hall months before the wedding in Coronado."

Peggy's eyes narrowed and she pointed a fork at June. "_Now_, I understand about Charlie and Ward."

One of the wait staff came into the kitchen to refill her try of hors d'oeuvres. Her placid façade beginning to crumble, June waited the eternity until they were alone again before asking with dread, "What do you mean?"

"After we got home from the wedding, I accidentally overhead Pam and Jonathan talking."

With an unladylike snort, Pamela interjected, "Accidentally overheard while listening at a keyhole." Peggy was the sneaky sister, the pot stirrer. What she lacked in physical strength was more than compensated for by her quick, perceptive mind and curiosity that rivaled a cat's.

"Pamela and Jonathan were talking about Charlie and somebody named Ward like they were both married to you. It sounded crazy to me. And then, at the hospital, I thought I heard you call Charlie Ward once when you thought nobody was around. I didn't understand then, but I think I do now. The man you've been parading around as Charlie isn't Charlie." She pointed the fork at June again, her voice rising with accusation like a prosecuting attorney's, "Is he?"

"You told Jonathan?!" June glanced frantically around the kitchen, making absolutely certain they were alone. She had an almost hysterical compulsion to check the cabinets to make sure nobody was hiding in them. At last, her despairing eyes fell on Pamela.

"This is none of your business, Peggy, so drop it," Pamela ordered in her most authoritative eldest sister tone. To June she said soothingly, "Don't worry. Jonathan's from St. Paul so we don't have any friends in common. Who would he tell? Plus, he knows how to keep his mouth shut. His sister, Gloria, recently gave birth to a baby girl. Funny thing, her husband has been overseas for over a year. Senator Holder is turning back handsprings to keep it hushed up."

"Oh, I get it," Peggy sneered, "you got pregnant and ran off to San Diego with Charlie."

Peggy may as well have slapped her. _This_ is how people saw it. They didn't see her love for Charlie or their desire to be together. All people wanted to see was an oversexed girl running off to be with an oversexed man. "It wasn't like that!" June all but wailed. She lowered herself into a chair and covered her face with her hands. "Pam, make her stop."

"Okay, Miss Smarty-pants, you've figured it all out. Now, you'll have to keep your mouth shut if you don't want June's dirty laundry aired out from here to San Diego."

Peggy shuffled over to June and put her arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry, sissy," using an old nickname June hadn't heard in years, "I'll never tell. Cross my heart. I'm only being a brat because I get left out of everything."

June clutched Peggy's hand. "Please, Peggy," she begged, "please, don't tell anyone. If it gets out that my baby is," she stumbled over the nasty word, "illegitimate, she'll be marked by it for the rest of her life. Do you understand what that will mean? Do you?"

"I swear, I won't tell, but what about Charlie?"

"What about Charlie?"

"Where is he? Does he know?"

"I never got a chance to tell him. I haven't heard anything from him since he shipped out. I don't know where he is, and I honestly don't care."

"You mean you don't love him?" Peggy asked wide-eyed.

"No, I don't."

"Then how could you, how could you…go to bed with him?" Peggy probed with fascinated interest.

"Life isn't like one of your fairytales," Pam said sharply. "Real things happen between real people."

"But, Mother said we shouldn't, _you know_, until we're married."

"Oh, grow up," Pamela scoffed with a roll of her eyes. "You're such a child."

"I know you're an alley cat," Peggy spat, "but I never expected June to be, too."

"Alley Cat?! Why, you little –"

"I know all about what was going on that time Daddy found you in the pool house with Clayton Forbes during the Labor Day picnic at the country club!"

June leapt up from the table to stop Pam's murderous lunge toward Peggy. She wedged herself between her sisters. "Stop it! Both of you! Someone is going to hear us! Do you want grandmother to overhear? Or Rachel Fairfield, the neighborhood gossip?"

"I just don't understand how you could be with Charlie if you didn't love him," Peggy said with a mixture of fascination and accusation. Behavior like this was the last thing she would ever expect from June. Pam, yes, but decidedly not June.

"I did love him. At least, I thought I did." Defeated, June plopped heavily back down into the chair. This day had been exhausting, and she was too tired for Peggy's questions. She'd been asking herself the same thing for months. How could she have slept with Charlie?

Peggy's eyes narrowed again as she tried to work out the puzzle. "How does this Ward person fit in? He's the one you married in San Diego, not Charlie, isn't he? I thought something weird was going on when I met him. He didn't seem like the same guy you described in the letters you wrote to me while you were living in St. Paul. You waxed poetic for a whole letter about how Charlie looks exactly like Tyrone Power. Ward's handsome, but he doesn't look anything like Tyrone Power. You also talked about how talkative and lively Charlie is. How he can't sit still. This guy doesn't act like that way, either."

"Ward's my very good friend who agreed to pose as Charlie for a few days while Mother and Daddy visited me in San Diego so they wouldn't worry about me or make me come home. The last thing I expected was for Mother and Daddy to surprise me with a wedding."

"And you went through with it?!" Peggy exclaimed, dizzy from the juicy revelations coming out about her heretofore dull sister. "Holy Cow!"

"Peggy, please, stop."

"Have you done it with Ward, too?"

"No, Peggy, of course not!" June snapped. Did letting one man make love to her make her a tramp? The conversation halted again while a friend of their mother's, none other than Rachel Fairfield the biggest snoop with the biggest mouth in town, stepped into the kitchen to say her goodbyes to the girls. After she was positive Rachel was gone, June added, "For the record, I'm in love with him."

"Ward?" Peggy asked with a jeer, "or Charlie? How can you go from man to man like…like…like some kind of harem girl?"

June's eyes stung and her face got hot. Why couldn't they all just get along? Three had always been a crowd where the Bronson sisters were concerned. June adored Pamela and got along well enough with Peggy. Pamela and Peggy only managed to tolerate each other more or less, but were normally civil. But put the three of them together, especially in a stressful situation, and they were at each other's throats within minutes.

"I thought I was in love with Charlie, otherwise, I never would have –" June broke off. Her mother would be appalled if she knew such an immoral topic was being discussed with the baby of the family. Her mother would be appalled if she knew such an immoral topic was being discussed at all. "Charlie was the first grown up man who was interested in me." June thumped her palm on her chest. "Who wanted _me_." Her eyes slid over to Pamela as she thought of George Ryland, the handsome young clerk in her father's bank who only pretended to like her in order to get close to Pam. "Who wanted me first, not Pamela."

"Hey, don't try to blame all this on me! I can't help it if I'm…if I'm…" Pam squealed gleefully, "popular!"

Peggy shot Pam a dirty look. Pamela with red rimmed eyes and hair and makeup askew due to too much crying and too many martinis still looked like a million dollars. Peggy, if anyone, could well appreciate being cast aside by everyone, male and female alike, to be near the charismatic, glittering good-time girl that was Pamela.

"I was swept up by Charlie's Tyrone Power looks and charm. He could be so sweet and so fun, but he could also be…"

June flashbacked to the day she thought Charlie was going to hit her and how much it hurt, both emotionally and physically, when he had his way with her. She had sneaked a few adult novels in her day, not that any of them were too explicit, but the dreamy, gossamer way they described romantic love was nothing like it was with Charlie. Fairytales and movies only served to get a girl's hopes up too high. Maybe sex wasn't something she'd ever particularly enjoy, but Ward had told her that she didn't have to if she didn't want to. Hopefully, he'd never force her, and she knew for certain he'd never hit her. That is, if he hung around long enough for her to find out exactly how he'd behave behind closed doors.

"Ward is different," June continued without going into detail about the unpleasant side of Charlie. "It's easy to get confused when you don't know what you're looking for, when you don't know what the real thing is. I know Ward is the real thing. He's handsome and charming, too, but he's so much more. He's thoughtful and kind. He's like an old friend I've known forever, but at the same time, like something or someone I've been waiting for all my life. I didn't feel that way with Charlie."

Pamela laughed scornfully. "All your life? All not quite twenty years of it? Sounds like you've been reading Peg's fairytales. I hate to agree with her, but you can't bounce from one man to another and call it love every time. You were in love with Charlie. Remember? I was there in St. Paul. I saw you acting like a lovesick puppy. You better be careful. Haven't you heard of the rebound? You may not love Ward as much as you think you do. If I were you, I'd give it some thought before you go throwing yourself at him just because he's willing, god knows why, to step in an save the damsel in distress. Ward may be taking a walk on the wild side right now, but he looks like one of those keep up appearances at all costs types to me. I bet he winds up all uptight like Daddy. Ward may not give you a divorce later when you realize you want Charlie or somebody else and not him. Divorce doesn't wear too well on pillars of the community."

Furious now, June stood up again. "So, the wicked stepsisters have made their proclamation!" She banged the kitchen table with her fist like a gavel. "I want Charlie, not Ward. I'm in with love Charlie, not Ward." She whirled on Pamela. "How long have you known Jonathan? Less than a year? You're trying your hardest to wrangle a proposal out of him. What about every other Tom, Dick, and Harry you've claimed to be in love with since you turned fifteen?"

"Anyone before Jonathan doesn't matter," Pamela answered stubbornly. "I'm truly in love this time. For keeps."

"Oh, really? Well, I remember what happened in the pool house with Clayton Forbes, too." June's voice changed to a mocking imitation of Pam's, "Daddy, I'm in love with Clayton! We want to get married!" June shook her finger at her older sister. "You're lucky you weren't the first one in the family to have a shotgun wedding. Does it mean you can't be in love with Jonathan because you used to be in love with Clayton?"

Without waiting for an answer, June turned her attention to Peggy. "What about Nelson? You've exchanged a few letters and met him precisely one time. He's nothing but a glorified pen pal and you think you're in love with him. How can you be so sure? You both live in glass houses so don't throw stones at me!"

Peggy and Pamela were stunned into abashed silence by June's uncharacteristic outburst. They were not shy about making a scene when things didn't go their way. June never did. Pamela reached out and fussed with one of June's errant curls and smoothed down June's collar. "Okay, Junie, don't be mad. You won't hear any more out of us."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

_"I'm in love with Charlie, not Ward." _The succinct statement reverberated through Ward's mind like a Chinese gong.

The wake turned party was winding down so Ward started gathering up plates and glasses. The sooner the place was cleaned up, the sooner everyone would get out or go to bed, and he could have some time with alone with June. Several minutes ago, he saw her go into the kitchen with Pam and Peggy so instead of barging in with a load of dirty dishes, he carefully bumped the swinging door into the kitchen with his hip and held it open fraction, listening to find out if he was about to interrupt anything. He didn't want to intrude if they were having an emotional moment between sisters. Evidently, the hot topic was June's love life, not their mother's death. For weeks, Ward had been thinking he was making progress with June, that he was building something real with her and edging out Charlie, but in less time than it takes for a heart to beat, she crushed his hopes and dreams like a cigarette under the heel of a boot.

_"I'm in love with Charlie, not Ward." _Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. His mother taught him this saying when he was a child and he often repeated it during verbal spars with kids in the schoolyard. Well, the old saying was wrong. Dead wrong. June's words hurt. They hit him like a sock to the jaw, causing him to jerk with instant pain. The stack of dishes almost slipped from his hands as he backpedaled away from the kitchen. He'd die of humiliation if they found him there, listening at the door like a pathetic fool. Fortunately, the girls were too engrossed in their heated discussion to hear the clack of the fumbled plates outside the door. Not caring anymore what anyone thought, Ward ditched his load on the floor next to the kitchen door and fled.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

Later, Ward sat alone on the terrace nursing a very large scotch and soda. Normally a beer drinker, he rarely drank whiskey, but the scotch was aged to perfection. Not that he knew what aged to perfection meant in terms of whiskey, but it didn't take a liquor connoisseur to know that this was the good stuff. He was seriously considering slipping back inside, swiping the bottle, and getting good and drunk. Wouldn't June's new husband getting soused at her mother's memorial set some tongues wagging? Everyone would be sure to remember him well after that.

The French door behind him opened with a creak. Ward didn't turn around, but after a second, he smelled gardenias and felt June's hand on his shoulder. "There you are. I've been looking all over. It's getting late. Are you ready to call it night? Everyone is gone." When he didn't answer her, she added shyly, "I hope you don't mind sharing my room. All the others are taken. Grandmother is in the room next to mine and she might notice if we don't sleep together." Grateful the darkness disguised the shade of red she had turned, June quickly corrected, "I mean, she might notice if we don't share the same room. The bed's big enough for both of us." The blush deepened. "I mean, you can sleep on one side and I can take the other. Like we did at the hotel in Coronado." While her mother was in the hospital, June's father booked a couple of rooms in a hotel across the street from the hospital that the entire family used to catch sporadic cat naps and quick showers. After Mabel's death, June and Ward continued staying the rooms, but today, upon her father's insistence, they had moved into the house for the duration of their stay. Apparently, Mr. Bronson was too distracted by his loss to consider their sleeping arrangements under his own roof.

As if he hadn't heard her, Ward unemotionally declared without explanation, "I'm going home tomorrow. Catching the first bus."

"But, I can't leave yet. I shouldn't leave Daddy this soon. I thought we'd stay the rest of the week."

"I meant I'm going home alone."

June's sharp intake of breath sliced the night, but she recovered herself. "Alone?" she asked steadily, despite her thumping heart.

Only yesterday, Ward had chivalrously told her he would stay in Chicago as long as necessary. According to him, nothing else mattered. Brockwell was holding his job, unfortunately without pay, but Nelson volunteered to float him a loan to help him get by. He'd worry about his studies later. Before Ward left for Chicago, his professors had been sympathetic to the plight of his mother-in-law. The harsh reality was that students were often called away to attend the funerals of friends or family member's killed in the war so attendance rules were fairly relaxed. Ward was allowed to collect homework assignments before he left to complete while he was away. What had changed within twenty-four hours to change his mind about staying in Chicago with her?

"Everyone has seen me, your husband, Charlie, not that anyone was too interested. They were too caught up in the free cocktails and caviar to notice me. Nobody will think a thing about it if you stay with your widowed father while your husband rejoins the military. With all the soldiers being killed, they won't think twice when your husband never comes back, either. I'll close the house in San Diego and send you your things."

"But, but I don't want to stay here. I want to be with you."

Damn it! Why did she have to lie to him? Why did she insist on cutting her teeth on his heart? "It's perfect timing," he said indifferently, not looking up at her. "You can leave word with Trixie for Charlie to get in touch with you. There's no reason for you to go back."

"But, you said…I thought we…"

"Look, June, I thought I could do this, but I can't. I thought I could step into another man's shoes and love his girl and raise his kid, but I can't. It's no good."

Without another word, June went back inside the house. Ward heard the door shut behind him, but he didn't turn around or go after her. Instead, he gulped down the rest of his drink.

Ward wanted to stay out on the terrace until there was absolutely no chance of anyone still being awake, but the icy winds blowing off of Lake Michigan chilled him to the bone and certainly weren't doing his back any favors. He went inside planning to stay on the sofa, but he was surprised to find Mr. Bronson still sitting there, much like he had all evening, except Peggy or Pamela wasn't glued to his side. His hair was in sticking up in little tufts all over his head from the many times he had scraped his hands through his hair with nervous anguish. He looked like he had aged twenty years since he and Mabel visited June in San Diego. The bottle of scotch Ward had been coveting was standing on the coffee table in front of him. Earlier when Ward snitched his drink, the bottle had been nearly full. Not anymore.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to disturb you. I thought everyone had gone to bed."

Mr. Bronson indicated the empty glass in Ward's hand and poured himself a substantial drink from the bottle. "Have another nightcap?" Ward sat down on the sofa beside him and held out his glass. Mr. Bronson poured him a similarly substantial drink. "Why aren't you asleep? You must be worn out. The past several days have been…" he searched for an appropriate word to sum up hell, "grueling."

Ward let the smooth, fiery liquid slide down his throat and relished the feeling of it warming his bones. "I'm too tired to sleep," he fibbed. "What about you? You must be exhausted."

"I am," Mr. Bronson replied on a weary sigh, "but I can't sleep without Mabel. I doze off and jerk awake, wondering where she is. I can't remember the last time Mabel and I slept apart. She always goes with me on business trips. Must be seven or eight years, when I went pheasant hunting with some friends. Men only, no wives. I missed her the whole damn week. I've always found spending time with my wife infinitely more pleasurable than anyone else. She isn't like other wives who are always nagging about one thing or another. You're late for dinner and now it's ruined. The sink is clogged. The car won't start. One of the children is in trouble at school. The cat is sick. She took care of problems herself, and when she couldn't, she had a way of telling me about them without making it sound like they were my fault. Mabel never lost the art of conversation or the ability to set everything aside and simply be with me."

Mr. Bronson's eyes lost their focus and Ward wondered if the scotch had gotten to him. With a wistful smile he went on, "My favorite time of day was after I got home from work, before dinner. Mabel always made sure the girls were occupied up in their rooms before I got home to give me a few minutes to unwind before the onslaught. She'd pour me a drink and I'd loosen my tie, and I would tell her about my day. Sometimes, she'd massage my neck or just sit with me in that big chair by the fireplace for a little while. Oh, how my mother clutched her pearls the first time she walked in and found Mabel sitting on my lap. My mother never understood us, Mabel and me. When we got married, you'd thought I'd run off with showgirl. Anyway, I probably bored Mabel to tears with my shop talk, but she never showed it. Diplomacy was never my forte, and she had valuable insights and advice on how to handle the employees or difficult clients. Or, we wouldn't talk about anything at all. We were both busy people. I with work. Mabel with the household and her activities. It was a pure luxury to just be still with her for a few minutes. The comfortable chair, a drink in my hand, and my wife curled up with me. It was a fifteen minute slice of heaven that I lived for every day. Eventually, the girls came thundering down the stairs, usually with even more girls in tow, starving for dinner like they hadn't seen food in days, all talking at once, fighting, crying, giggling, vying to have the floor. I love my daughters, but I was glad when they started growing up so I could have Mabel more to myself again. Careful what you wish for. Now, June is across the country in San Diego. Pamela's in St. Paul. I doubt she'll be back. We never expected Peggy to leave home, but she's rushing headlong into something with your friend. And Mabel is gone. I've lost my best friend, my dearest love."

"It's hard," Ward said, immediately embarrassed by his foolish remark. Of course, it's hard. "I understand." Another foolish remark.

"I hope you never understand, son." Seemingly forgetting that Ward was his son-in-law in name only, Mr. Bronson gave him a fatherly pat on the knee. "Go on up to your wife. Hold her. Love her. Appreciate her. Don't waste a second you have with her."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

Heartsick and drained of all energy, June sank down on her bed, her hands probing the small of her back, trying to locate the source of the knot of pain that radiated little agonies throughout the rest of her body. Her sisters had voted to leave the mess in the kitchen for Gussie to deal with in the morning, but Gussie was getting up in years, and June couldn't in good conscience leave the enormous mess for the old woman to clean up alone. June had plenty of practice washing dishes at the diner, and she knew she couldn't sleep even if she tried so she sent her sisters to bed and got busy in the kitchen. Replaying Ward's announcement that he was leaving over and over in her head, she washed dishes until her hands were raw, and then, wrapped up the leftovers and organized the refrigerator. After she finished wiping off the counters and mopping the floor, she quietly opened the kitchen door to see if anyone was still around. Her father was in the living room so she crept upstairs without him noticing. She felt guilty for avoiding him, but she didn't have it in her to cope with his grief on top of her own tonight.

June picked up her old teddy bear and tenderly straightened its crooked red necktie and rubbed a smudge off one of its glossy black eyes. She must remember to bring it with her for the baby. Her parents had given her the bear when she had her tonsils out when she was seven. The operation at the hospital had been very scary, but the bear had kept her company, and after she came home, she was allowed to eat all the strawberry ice cream she wanted. Peggy and Pamela were sent to visit an aunt, and Mother stayed home with her to nurse her for a few days. To June's delight, her father left work early every day to play checkers with her. Operations, she decided, weren't so bad when you got lots of ice cream and your parents all to yourself.

For several minutes, June sat motionless on the edge of the bed trying to stop her mind from careening between her mother and Ward. She wasn't so sure the full reality of her mother's death had actually sunk in yet because she felt oddly detached from the loss, almost as if it was happening to a close friend, but not to herself. Still, it was lonely being home without her mother in the house, and she missed her already. Whenever June was ill, her mother used to make her cocoa and tuck her into bed, first with her teddy bear and later, after she was older, the radio was brought into her bedroom for company and comfort. After Peggy came down with polio, any illness, no matter how insignificant, was a big deal. Sometimes after her mother had June tucked in, she would lie down, too, and they cuddled until June fell asleep. Occasionally, June exaggerated, if not out-right fabricated, an illness in the hopes of getting her mother's undivided attention. June didn't envy Peggy the polio, but after Peggy got sick, the family's world shifted, suddenly revolving mostly around Peggy. The state of Peggy's health dominated everything, and Peggy knew how to work this to her advantage.

June closed her eyes. She could almost smell her mother's perfume and feel the soft material of her dresses against her cheek. What she wouldn't give to have her mother there to make her cocoa and tuck her in bed. Or sweep in like she often did after a party on a soft, twinkling cloud of a beautiful gown and good spirits and give her kiss goodnight because she knew June couldn't fall asleep unless her parents were home. Maybe her mother could tell her what to say to Ward to make him stay. Maybe she would confess the unvarnished truth about Charlie and the baby. Over the past few months, she had been tempted many times to tell her mother everything, but one lie had led to the next and it all added up to more heartbreak than she could bear to inflict on the gentle, joyful woman. Mabel was like champagne, fizzy and fun. Even the invasion of polio into their house hadn't spoiled her sunny disposition. June knew no matter what she had done, her mother would still love her and find a way for all of them to happily carry on.

A knock at the door caused June to flinch out of her reverie. "Yes?" she called, assuming it was Peggy or Pamela looking for another cry.

"It's me."

"Come in," she said, thankful to find Ward instead of one of her sisters, but not wanting to talk about him leaving. "I didn't expect you." He looked sad, but he didn't look as though he hated her.

"I, um, your father wanted me to check on you. Are you okay?"

Emotions starting to swirl, she took a breath and forced herself not to cry. "I'm just tired. Too tired to move."

The sight of June, alone and suffering, sent a mighty crack through stone wall Ward had been building against her throughout the evening. He came around the bed and knelt down in front of her. "You need to get some sleep. Here, let me help you." He pulled off her shoes and gave her feet a quick rub. "Your ankles are swollen."

June rolled her shoulders and arched her back. "My back hurts, too. My doctor says it goes with the territory." She gave him a half-hearted smile. "I suspect it will only get worse."

"You should change into your pajamas and get into bed. Surely, there's an empty couch or chair somewhere around this place for me to camp out on."

As he turned to go, June grabbed his sleeve. "Ward, what's wrong? What's changed?"

"It's late. You need to rest. I'm going to go."

"Ward, stay with me. I don't want to be alone tonight. I don't think I can stand it. _Please_."

Her blue eyes got him every time. "Alright, for a little while," he conceded with a sigh, angry with himself for falling for her every single time she crooked her finger at him. He turned in a little circle. Her bedroom was triple the size of the room he shared with Wallace. "Where are your pajamas?"

She shook her head no and motioned him back toward the bed. "I just want to go to sleep."

June laid back into the pillows and Ward helped her swing her legs onto the bed. He took his time joining her. At a glacial pace, he removed his jacket, loosened his tie, and toed off his shoes. After removing enough clothing to be comfortable, but not too comfortable, he lay down, hugging the far edge of the bed.

June sensed his anger and anxiety, but it didn't matter. Tonight, she needed to be near him whether he liked it or not. She turned off the lamp and inched closer and closer until she was snuggled in next to his side.

Ward desperately wanted to get to get away from her before he found himself agreeing to another round of marriage, but there was nowhere to go. He knew he should leave. He wanted to leave, but he couldn't leave June. Not tonight. Tomorrow, he'd be on the first bus going anywhere away from her. Tonight, he would pretend, just one more time, that their marriage was going to last forever.

Feeling uncharacteristically bold because this could be her last night with Ward, June reached back behind her, found his arm, and folded it over her. With her teddy bear tucked in close and Ward's arm around her, she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

The sun was rising when Ward awoke the next morning. The thought of quietly sneaking out of June's bed, out of her house, and out of her life was tempting, but not as tempting as the soft, warm bed and the soft, warm body next to him. The pinkish purple light streaming in through the curtains illuminated June's beautiful face. They were nestled into each other like a pair of spoons. Ward had never been this close to a woman. His body melded perfectly with June's as if God made them to match exactly, and he felt a rush of love for her burn through his resolve to leave her. Why did she hold such power over him? Last night on the terrace, he decided he was through with June once and for all. He was going back to San Diego alone, and if he never saw her again, so much the better. But here he was lying so close to her he could feel every breath she drew.

Ward's entire body was numb from lying in one position all night. He had a piece of shrapnel lodged near his spinal cord the doctors wouldn't remove out of fear of causing paralysis. They had assured to him that there was almost no chance of it ever moving or causing him any trouble. At first, this potential threat lurking in his body terrified him. Ward had seen paralyzed vets, wheelchair or bed bound, unable to move. There was a time if his foot so much as tingled from sitting too long at his desk, he'd near panic. His sudden leaps from his chair flailing an arm or a leg like a lunatic caused Nelson to bust a gut laughing. Lying here with June in his arms, he wouldn't move for all the gold in Fort Knox. He didn't care if he ever moved again.

As the room grew brighter, Ward looked around, taking in June's bedroom, where childhood clashed with adulthood. She still had her teddy bear tucked under her chin. A malevolent looking porcelain doll glowered down at him from atop a shelf. How did she sleep with that thing in the room? High school pennants lined the walls along with a picture of a white kitten. At the other end of the spectrum, a scatter of cosmetics and perfumes festooned her vanity. A pair of very adult looking high heels peeked out of the half open closet door. A fashion magazine was on the nightstand. And there was June herself, looking far from childlike in the bloom of pregnancy and sexily inviting with her messy strawberry curls and full rosy lips. Without thinking, he started to rub her tummy with gentle lazy strokes as he absently wondered when a baby starts to kick.

June knew Ward was awake so she remained perfectly still and pretended to be asleep. She wanted to stay like this forever, cocooned in bed with him, with the rest of the world blocked out behind the bedroom door. He was awake early to make good on his promise to catch the first bus, she feared. Now that the funeral was over and there was no more work to be done or arrangements to be made to keep her mind busy, the loss of her mother was enveloping her like a deepening fog. Her mother was gone and Ward was going, too. The disagreement she had last night with her sisters and questions about what other people knew about her situation were also weighing on her mind. June wasn't sure she could go on like this. The unrelenting loss and uncertainty were becoming unbearable. Ward started massaging her belly, and a few seconds later, June felt her baby move for the first time, as if the child was responding to Ward's touch. It was a wondrous feeling. Do it again, she mentally urged the baby, and as if obeying her mother, the baby kicked again. It felt like the swish of a tiny fish deep inside her. The rapture turned bittersweet when it hit her that her mother couldn't share in her joy, and Ward no longer cared. It was all too much, and she was wracked by a great shuddering sob.

Alarmed, Ward asked, "June, are you okay?"

"Oh, Ward, I feel like I'm going to fall apart."

He tightened his arms around her, his love for her completely destroying the wall he had built around his heart only hours ago. "Go ahead and fall, baby, I'll catch you." He no longer gave a damn that June didn't love him. He loved her and, at this moment, it was enough.

June didn't fall, she shattered, a little girl crying for her mother, a grown woman weeping for her mistakes and her losses and the losses to come.

Eventually, she turned over to face him, and burying her face into his chest she entreated, "Please, don't go without me."

Scraping up the last pitiful remains of his dignity, despite his love for her and despite her tears, he managed to say, "I have to go. I can't settle for second best anymore."

"Second best?"

Was she really going to make him spell it out for her? The word stuck in his throat, but he said it. "Charlie." It was all he could get out of his mouth, but it was sufficient. That one odious word summed up everything.

"But, I love you. Don't you know that?"

"No, you don't."

"I do, Ward. I do. I'm in love with you."

Something in her voice sounded like the truth. "You love me?" he asked, not wanting to believe it for a second, but hoping so much she was telling the truth. "What about Charlie?"

After all this time, why would he think I'm still in love with Charlie? "I'm in love with you, Ward, not Charlie."

"But last night in the kitchen...You said you're in love with Charlie."

"No, not Charlie. You. I love you."

Still not wanting to trust her, but unable to help himself, he murmured, "God help me, I love you, too."

Ward kissed at the salty tears on her cheeks until she brought up her lips to meet his. Grief turned to passion, and they kissed with love and lust, like two people in love. Clothes were getting in the way as their bodies and souls demanded to be closer.

Ward had her dress unzipped before he came to his senses. "Wait, baby, we have to stop."

June kissed him again. Unsure exactly what she wanted, only that she wanted more of him, she said, "I don't want to stop."

He was absolutely not going to make love to June for the first time with her entire family only a few feet away, especially not with the old dragon asleep in the room next to theirs. Neither was he going to make love to her with that horrid doll watching them from the shelf. Not to mention the fact that he promised her father he wouldn't touch her unless they were officially married. "I'm old fashioned. I believe in the sanctity of marriage."

"I thought we were married."

"You know what I mean. Legally married."

She smiled merrily at him, her sadness forgotten for the moment. "Then, let's make it legal."

Ward propped himself up on his elbow, and asked seriously, "Are you sure? What about Charlie? What if he comes back? Then what?"

Charlie again. Would he ever go away? June couldn't remember the last time she thought about Charlie with love in her heart. Now, when she thought of Charlie, it was with fear that he might come back and claim his child and spoil everything with Ward. "I don't want Charlie. I don't love Charlie. I know with everything I have said and done it may be hard to believe me, but you have to believe me, Ward, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"But what about the baby? His baby?"

"Charlie wouldn't want this baby, and he'll never know. Charlie and I made a mistake, but the baby shouldn't have to suffer for it." She smiled, "You're going to be a terrific father."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

The moment didn't seem possible. Was he really about to make love to June? On the way back to San Diego, they had stopped off in Las Vegas, a place where quickie marriages and quickie divorces fazed no one. Before they left Chicago, Ward took Mr. Bronson aside and told him their plans. With everything the new widower was going through, Ward felt the least he could do was ease his mind about his troubled middle daughter. June was getting married for keeps this time. Ward and Mr. Bronson agreed to let June decide when to tell her father what he already knew. June finding out that Ward was in league with her father and knew that her mother was dying all along was a Pandora's Box both men believed was better left unopened. As soon as Ward could convince June to tell her father the truth, and he broke the news about his new bride to his parents, absolutely no more lies were going to be necessary.

Mr. Bronson insisted upon paying for a room in an expensive hotel. Thanks to his generosity, Ward and June were enjoying a richly appointed room complete with a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver ice bucket, a large soft as a cloud bed, and bathtub big enough to swim in. Ward picked up their latest marriage certificate off the bureau. How many times had they been married now, three? There was the entirely fabricated City Hall marriage, the church wedding in Coronado, and most recently, this afternoon's ceremony in the Little Church of the West. Ward laughed to himself at the insanity of it all. They would use the backdated document Nelson procured for them, and keep this one, the legal one, under lock and key in case they ever needed it. When he could afford it, he'd rent a safety deposit box to keep it safe so there would be no chance their children would ever accidentally stumble upon it. Their children. The thought made Ward smile. The baby on the way was his now. He couldn't wait to take him fishing. Or her. Girls can go fishing, right?

Ward heard June finishing up in the bathroom. She'd come out soon and after all these months of wanting her, they would finally make love. He tried to chase away the schoolboy nerves that threatened to ruin the moment. He couldn't help but be nervous. He had never done this before and June had. What if he couldn't compete with Charlie?

Ward's prior experience with Helen Cline was far from torrid, mainly holding hands and necking in the back row of the movie theater, although, things had gotten out of hand a couple of times. The first time they had gotten carried away was when Helen's parents were out of the house for a late night. Mr. and Mrs. Cline knew they were going to be late so they actually told Helen to ask Ward to wait with her after the movies until they got home. It was like an open invitation to fool around. Ward's hands had wandered to places Helen had never allowed them to go before, but it all came to a screeching halt when headlights started bouncing around the living room much earlier than expected. Thank goodness Helen got her blouse buttoned back up and he had the lipstick smeared across his face wiped away before her parents walked in. Helen's father was 6' 6" inches tall and had at least 75 pounds on Ward. On their first real date as teenagers, Mr. Cline informed Ward in no uncertain terms he would pound Ward into hamburger meat if he ever strayed into forbidden territory with his daughter, and Ward wholeheartedly believed him.

The second time he and Helen almost went too far was one night when they were driving home from a basketball game a few towns away. Ward wanted to show Helen the new fishing hole he had found. Helen loved fishing almost as much as Ward did. Since Mr. Cline wasn't blessed with a son, he had had to make due with Helen. Helen casted a line better than any boy Ward knew and wasn't squeamish in the least about baiting her own hook with crickets and worms. The large pond Ward had stumbled across a few days earlier was bound to look pretty in the moonlight and the game had finished up early so Ward turned off the main highway and headed to the pond for a quick look. About a mile down the gravel path, the car ran out of gas. Helen rolled her eyes. This was the oldest trick in the book, but this time, it was actually true. This morning, when Ward checked, the car had plenty of gas, but unbeknownst to Ward, Wallace had siphoned the gas out of their dad's car and put it in his old wreck. Just as Ward was about to hike back up to the highway for help, a thunderstorm blew in. He and Helen settled in the car to wait it out, and before long, they were steaming up the windows. A voice in Ward's head was screaming at him to stop before they did something they couldn't take back, but stronger forces were urging him to keep going. Ward reigned himself in long enough to ask Helen just how far she wanted to go, but before she had a chance to answer, a car with another pair of teenagers, no doubt going to the pond to steam up their own car windows, pulled up beside them, and Ward and Helen's virtue was saved.

When Ward recounted the story to Wallace, Wallace chastised his older brother for not taking full advantage of the situation, but Ward was glad he and Helen missed the chance to 'go all the way'. Something about it didn't feel right. Ward didn't want to think about everything Wallace had been up to since he starting dating. He and Wallace had been brought up to believe that sex was saved for the wedding night by both his parents and the church. However, the desires of Ward's parents and his church went to war with the desires of Ward's own body and his friends' influences when he joined the Seabees.

Life in the military was rife with girly magazines and crude stories of his shipmates' sexual escapades. Ward had the same red-blooded male urges as his friends, but he didn't want anything frivolous and cheap. Nevertheless, he hadn't been in service long before he found himself lined up with a gang of buddies outside a whorehouse in one of the ports they had docked at on their way to the war in the Pacific. A drunken Ward waited in line with his even more drunken, snickering friends as they elbowed one another and told vulgar stories and jokes. The line was long and moving at a snail's pace. As Ward crept closer to the front of the line, the fun began to wear off. While his buddies in front of him eagerly stepped up one by one to be taken to a room in the back as the ladies became available, Ward started to feel as if he were in line for the guillotine. Finally, it was his turn, and the sight of his would be paramour sobered him up much more quickly than a cold shower and pot of coffee ever could. The Asian prostitute smelled of cheap perfume and cigarettes and was probably quite pretty fifteen or twenty years ago, but the layers of makeup and garish red lipstick couldn't disguise the mileage she had on her. She led him by the hand into a small gaudily decorated red and gold room with a messy unmade bed that reeked of sex and sweat. She introduced herself in Pidgin English and asked Ward what his pleasure was, not that the routine varied much from man to man, but she always asked, anyway. The suggestive question added to the experience, and rarely, a man had been known to teach her a new trick or two. Ward dumbly stared at her, unwilling or unable to move, so she shrugged out of her kimono, slinked up to him, and began to rub her naked body over him as she groped him through his clothes. Her lewd actions snapped Ward out of his drunken trance. He fled from the room and vomited into the gutter outside. Never again would he get drunk enough to allow his friends to talk him into doing something so reprehensible.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

Ward knew this should be one of the most memorable, pleasurable moments of his life. He was going to make love to his wife, the woman he adored, the woman he would spend the rest of his life with, not running the gauntlet. He tried to relax while he waited for June, but he was unsure what to do. Should he wait for her in bed? Should he have a drink waiting for her like the suave guys in the movies? Should he put on some music? He was eternally grateful he hadn't lost his virginity in a filthy whorehouse, but on the other hand, he would be eternally grateful for some experience, too. Ward took off his bathrobe, then, put it back on. Then, he took it off again, and was just about to put it back on when June came out of the bathroom. When they arrived in Las Vegas, she had ducked into a little boutique on a secret mission while he waited for her outside on a bench. She left the shop carrying a pink box tied up with a large frilly bow. Not being all that interested in women's clothing, Ward hadn't been too curious about what was in the box, probably a new dress or a shirt. Now, he knew exactly what was in the box and he was definitely interested. June was wearing a silky sheer lace peignoir set in a shade of blue that made her eyes sparkle.

Ward's heart almost bounded out of his chest. "You look beautiful, June."

No, she was not beautiful. She was chubby and well on her way to getting fat, and her normally clear skin was rioting of late so she looked more like a fourteen year old with a bad complexion, but she smiled at the compliment and whispered, "Thank you." Nervous and unsure of herself, she stood there unconsciously twisting the ribbon tying the front of her robe. Ward wasn't like Charlie she reminded herself. Charlie would have already pounced on her. That wasn't altogether a bad thing because the sooner it got started, the sooner it would be over with and the less time she would have to worrying about what was coming next. Maybe, they would have time to go sightseeing afterward, she thought, trying to focus her mind on the future rather than the present.

It wasn't that she didn't like some parts of lovemaking. In the car with Charlie before they did what started this terrible ball rolling, felt so good. As had the kiss Ward had given her in Coronado after the minister pronounced them man and wife. And what she and Ward shared together a few days ago in her bedroom at home had burned her right down to the ground. At the time, she wanted more. This new, unfamiliar kind of want was like a primal reaction she couldn't control, and, in that moment before she had a chance to think, she would have done anything Ward wanted. But at this very minute, June wished kissing and hugging could be enough. Being pushed into, invaded by a man, was so painful and though it was supposed to be natural, it made her feel used and dirty. _It will be okay_, she kept telling herself. _It will be okay_.

Ward dropped his bathrobe on the floor; all thoughts about what he could be or should be doing flew out of his head. All he wanted was to get his hands on June. He had to stop himself from somersaulting across the bed to get to her via the fastest route possible. Instead, he made himself walk slowly around the bed with as much restraint as he could muster. When Ward reached her, he took her into his arms and kissed her. He felt June trembling. Not the good kind of trembling that was sort of like a hum or a vibration that he had felt coming from Helen on those very rare occasions when he and Helen pushed the envelope. June's trembling was akin to shaking, cowering even, as in being forced into the lion's den. What was wrong with her? Should he stop? Christ, he was as nervous as she was. Maybe, another day would be better.

"June, we don't have to do this right now, not if you're not ready."

Was waiting a real option? she wondered. Ward had told her once that she never had to if she didn't want to, but her grandmother had warned her that when her husband was in the mood, she had better be, too. Besides, this was their honeymoon, for goodness sake, how could she refuse to do what everyone always did on their honeymoon? She couldn't. Could she?

"It's just that with Charlie –"

Ward flinched and his face clouded over with the 'Charlie look', the expression he got when he thought he wasn't measuring up to Charlie. He let go of her. "Let's just leave it for now," he said tersely, obviously angry but trying not to show it.

Their honeymoon was going to turn into a disaster if she didn't get hold of herself. It would have to have to happen eventually. She may as well get it over with. June shook her head. "No…I mean…yes, I'm ready."

"June, sex isn't called love making for nothing. It's about lust, but more importantly, it's an expression of love between two people, a way to show that love. I don't want it to be just sex between us. I want it to be love making. So I'm asking you, are you sure?"

June was sure she didn't want the pain, didn't want to have to lie there will he heaved over her, but she was equally sure she wanted to be as close to Ward as humanly possible. She needed to do this with Ward. Perhaps if she let him do the things Charlie had done, it would somehow blot out Charlie completely. It hit home that Ward could never be her first. Because of her foolishness, Ward was stuck with another man's scraps and another man's child. She should be thanking her lucky stars that he even wanted her, not dragging her feet. Suddenly, thoughts began to race through her head, flashes of sharp clarity that lit the way through the murky maze of fear and disgust she had been running through for months. If she wanted to be Ward's wife, she had to act like his wife. It was the only hope for them.

June curled her arms around him and kissed him as passionately as her trepidation and inexperience would allow, not an act of seduction, but a plea, begging him to set her world on a new axis. "I'm sure," she whispered between kisses, "Show me your love, and I'll show you."

Ward drew back and searched her eyes for traces of hesitation. He would not make her do this. He made up his mind to give her every opportunity to stop if she wanted. Setting a slower pace, he started off with soft kisses in an unhurried manner as though they had all the time in the world. The eventual raking of her hands through his hair was a hard earned victory. Ward pulled her even closer and slowly deepened the kisses. For long heartbeats, all he did was kiss her. After a while, his hands began to play, and he felt his body soaring to new heights. Waiting no longer seemed like a good idea or even possible. Was the old line men pulled on women about not being able to stop really true? Heaven help him if June asked him to stop now.

When his want of her couldn't be ignored any longer, Ward tugged at the ribbon on June's robe and it glided down to the floor, revealing the long gown underneath with its polished buttons and its tasteful albeit plunging neckline. He found himself staring at the hollow at her throat, the place he had been dying to kiss. He trailed his fingertips down her neck to the hollow, then, let his lips take a similar meandering path. Nips at her ear, her jaw, and down her neck until he finally settled in at the hollow.

The delicious things his mouth did there almost made June forget about being nervous. Her mind already wanted him, but her body was beginning to want him, to need him, too. The dread was fading away only to be replaced by a mysterious ache, something she had never felt with Charlie.

Ward began to undo the buttons down the front of her gown. They melted away as easily as sugar candy and when the gown parted, revealing her naked breasts, June stepped closer to him, wanting to hide herself from his gaze. Ward felt her heart pounding under his palms and kissed her until he felt her giving in. He continued with the buttons until the gown slipped down, catching at the bulge in her belly. Ward lovingly put his hand over the plump swell.

June put her hand over his, "I'm getting fat."

"Not fat, beautiful. You're getting more beautiful every single day." Ward took her hand and led her to the bed. He wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her to bed as he had often imagined Charlie doing, but his injuries prevented him. Instead, he lay down with her and resumed the kisses. Piece by piece, clothing dropped away, and more clumsily than he would have liked, Ward used his mouth and his hands to stroke, to tease, to inflame. He felt hopelessly out of his depth, but then he remembered the advice, Bert, one of the older men he had served with in the Seabees, had given him once about women. One night, fed up with listening to the crude stories his shipmates were telling about the women they had had, Ward went to his bunk early. Bert followed him, scoffing at the outlandish tales. He told Ward that women were like furnaces. If you want to make them happy, keep their fire stoked. So that's what Ward did. He quit worrying about Charlie and his own ineptness and focused on keeping June's fired stoked.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

The next morning, Ward's eyes flew open when he felt June lightly tracing the scars on his back with her fingertip. Damn it! Why didn't he remember to put on a shirt before he fell asleep? They were officially until-death-do-us-part married so he had no choice but to let her see, and she may as well get used to how terrible he looked, but even so, it was all he could do not to run from the bed.

June felt him tense under her touch, and she wished there was some way to convince him the scars didn't matter. Ward had fallen asleep naked, a novelty that would have merited its own consideration had she not been preoccupied with the state of his health, both physically and mentally. Unlike the first time saw his back, no blankets or clothing or distance obscured her view. Ward's wounds were shocking, she had to admit. His back had been butchered like a piece of meat. For the past several minutes, June had forced herself to look at his back, to meet his injuries head on. She couldn't go through life with Ward pretending the scars didn't exist or being startled by them every time she happened to get a glimpse of his back. She certainly didn't want him to feel like he had to keep himself hidden in order to spare her. Ward was injured serving his country. How anyone could laugh at him or be disgusted by the sight of him was beyond her comprehension. Someday, the scars would fade, and June prayed the pain and the terror they represented would fade someday, too.

It took every bit of his self-control, but Ward let June go on touching him. Minutes passed. When it became clear she wasn't going to let it go, wasn't going to allow him to gracefully ignore her, he worked up his courage and said, "I was part of the construction battalion on Guadalcanal. We directly followed the Marine invasion. Our job was to rebuild a Jap airfield that had been destroyed during the battle for the island. It was of strategic importance for the Allies and for the Japanese. It was up to the Marines to hold the island. It was up to the Seabees to rebuild the airfield and keep it operational. It was hard work and slow going because the Japanese were constantly bombarding us. Conditions were awful. It was hot as – it was very hot and the mosquitoes were thick as clouds. There were these little insects that bit, too. Rations were low and rice was about all we had to eat. It was a lucky day when the rice didn't have any maggots crawling in it. Men were constantly being killed or wounded or sick with malaria and dysentery. It was a living hell."

June pressed herself against him and silently listened to his story while she tenderly caressed his scars. Ward was taut as a wire as if muscle, bone, and nerve endings could snap from the tension at any moment.

"Late one afternoon, we were out repairing some damage to a landing strip, and the Japs really let loose. I was running for cover when a water tank exploded. I'm lucky it was a water tank and not a fuel tank or I wouldn't be here. The tank was blown to bits and a lot of the bits ended up in my back. I couldn't run. I couldn't move. The Japs were strafing the island, too. I don't know why I wasn't shot. My friends, Vinnie and Amos, tried to drag me to safety, but they were hit. They fell across me. I could feel the impact when the bullets hit their bodies. Their blood soaked my clothes. They should've gotten off that damn beach, but they stopped to help me."

"Vinnie was from New Jersey. He had a year old boy he'd never even seen before. Alonzo. Everything Vinnie knew about his son he learned from his wife's letters. He reread her letters about ten times a day. We got so sick of hearing about Alonzo. It was Alonzo this and Alonzo that all day long. Vinnie was going to teach Alonzo how to play baseball and how to be the best mechanic in New Jersey. As soon as he got home, Vinnie was going to put up a new sign for his garage, Esposito & Son Auto Repair. He kept a picture of Alonzo in his shirt pocket and showed it to everyone he met. I've probably seen it a thousand times. Alonzo has big brown eyes just like Vinnie."

"And Amos?" June asked, relieved Ward was finally talking.

"Amos was a true southern gentleman from Tennessee. He had a thick southern accent and the guys teased him unmercifully about it, like he was dumb because of the way he spoke or where he was from. I loved to hear him talk. His drawl was almost musical. I was going to marry his sister just so I could hear that drawl for the rest of my life."

June didn't know if this last remark was intended to be a joke or not. He'd told her about a girl from back home named Helen, but he'd never mentioned anybody else. One day, she would find out just how close Ward and Amos' sister were, but not now. Now, all she could focus on was Ward's story.

"Vinnie was killed instantly. The top his head was just…gone. His face was so close to mine. He stared at me for hours with his cold dead eyes. Big brown eyes, just like his son's."

"What about Amos?" she prompted after Ward stopped and it seemed he wasn't going to go on.

"He was killed, too, but not instantly. He kept talking about biscuits. About going home to have his momma's biscuits one more time. I tried to comfort him. I kept telling him everything would be okay. That he'd have his mom's biscuits again. All he could eat. But I don't think he heard me. I prayed so hard for Amos to get those biscuits again. I don't think God heard me, either."

Lost in memories, Ward came to another halt. "Tell me the rest of it," June urged, wanting so much for him to get every bit off his chest.

She felt him shudder before continuing, "The attack went on and on and on. I saw this big medic running towards us. He was so tall. His arms and legs were like tree trunks. He looked big enough to scoop us up and carry us to safety. He yelled something, but I couldn't hear him. It was too late for Vinnie, but I thought Amos and I were saved. I told Amos help was here. We were going to make it. Then, another shell hit and the medic went flying into the air. When he landed, he…Well, he didn't look much like a man anymore."

The medic was in pieces. His hand landed only a few feet from where Ward lay. If Ward had been able to move his arms, he could have reached out and touched it. That hand was going to save him and Amos. That hand was wearing a wedding ring. The medic had a wife waiting for him, maybe a kid. The medic's family would never see him again because he was trying to help Ward. The bloody stump of a hand with the wedding ring along with Vinnie's cold eyes and Alonzo's photograph were permanently etched onto Ward's memory and never far away from his thoughts.

Ward withheld this part of the story from June. She didn't need to envision the medic being blown apart by the blast. In fact, he had never told the complete truth about what happened that day to anyone. Awful things happened and rehashing them with his parents or a counselor would do nothing to lessen the agony and guilt he felt for being alive when none of the others were. Opening up to June, telling her most of it, was one of the hardest things he had ever done, but she deserved to know what she had gotten into with him. And in telling her, Ward thought he felt a minute thaw in the ice locked depths of his mind where he kept the pain carefully stored away. Still, he would never tell anyone about how he had had to lie there in the sand for hours with Vinnie's brains smeared across his face, in his eyes and his nose and horrifically, in his mouth, or about the medic's mangled body or how the pain and the terror had caused him to piss his own pants. There were some things better left unspoken even to the ones he loved most.

"The medic died trying to save me and I never knew his name. He still haunts me, though, along with Amos and Vinnie. They haunt me like ghosts. They ask me over and over why they had to die and I was allowed to live."

"If I looked to my left, I saw the Marines trying to defend the island get slaughtered. If I looked to my right, I saw the ocean boiling with bombs. If I looked straight ahead I saw Vinnie's dead eyes. The picture of Alonzo had fallen out of his pocket. Vinnie's blood was on it. I wanted to get it. I wanted to wipe off the blood and save it for Vinnie, but I couldn't get my arm free, and the picture blew away. It was funny seeing that little picture of an innocent baby with big brown eyes skittering across the sand with shells exploding all around it. I tried to keep my eyes squeezed shut, but I couldn't. I don't know why, but I couldn't close my eyes. And, I couldn't block out the sounds of the battle or Amos calling for his mother."

Ward stopped talking again while the memories flooded over him like tidal waves. His stomach was hurting and his mouth had gone dry. He vomited once in a counselor's office. The counselor wouldn't let up. He kept pushing and pushing until Ward tossed his cookies all over the counselor's fancy mahogany desk. Ward was humiliated, but at least the counselor shut up. Ward hoped to hell he wouldn't do anything as pathetic in front of June. It was bad enough that she had already seen him lose it the night of the dinner party with her family.

"Eventually, it got quiet, well, as quiet as a battle can get. The gunfire stopped, the bombing stopped, men stopped yelling, and Amos stopped talking about biscuits. Amos had stopped talking forever. For a few seconds, all I heard was the crackle of flames. Then suddenly, it was chaos again when everyone realized the attack was really over. Men started working to salvage what they could of the mess and wounded men started screaming for help. I was screaming, too, but I guess they couldn't hear me. Or maybe I was only screaming in my head. I don't know. It was dark by then and we were away from the main part of the airfield, hidden behind some debris. Almost to the jungle. If we had made it just a few more yards, maybe we would have been okay. I was pinned down by Vinnie and Amos. I couldn't move. Insects were swarming. They were crawling in Vinnie's wide open eyes and there was nothing I could do for him. They crawled all over me, too, biting me, stinging me and there was nothing I could do for myself. Sand was everywhere. In my eyes, my nose, my mouth. And the pain…it… June, it was unbearable. The heat and the sand and the bugs and the stench of death were choking the life out me. I wanted to die. I prayed to die. By the time they found me, I was half out of my mind."

Tears slipped down June's cheeks. She dashed them away with the back of her hand. She couldn't let Ward see her cry. She had to be strong for him. She had to show him she was strong enough to share this load with him.

"They said miracles kept me alive. It was a miracle I wasn't cut in two by the shrapnel. It was a miracle I didn't bleed to death or die of infection. It was a miracle the bullets that hit Amos and Vinnie didn't travel into my body. They call it miraculous, but Amos and Vinnie are the reasons I'm alive, the only reasons. If they hadn't tried to carry me to safety, they would have survived. And the medic, maybe he'd be alive. Maybe other people died because the medic didn't have the chance to save them. Why did all those people have to die because of me? Why didn't I die, too? Why didn't I die instead?"

Ward was freely sobbing by then. What could she say? She didn't have any magic words to make the pain and the bad memories stop. "You lived so you could save my life," June finally told him before putting her lips to his scars to kiss the hurt away. June's kisses were more healing than anything a doctor or a counselor had ever done for him. She kept up her ministrations until Ward's desire for her overrode the pain, and he made love to her again.

June never dreamed it could be like this. Charlie hurt her, took from her, used her. Ward didn't hurt her; on the contrary, he made her feel wonderful in ways she never knew were possible. The feelings and sensations his body evoked in hers were intoxicating. All she wanted was more. Now, she understood what all the fuss was about. This was what she had been made for – loving Ward, being loved by him, and making a family with him. Ward was where she belonged, where she wanted to be.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

They spent their honeymoon in a sensual cycle of lovemaking, sleeping, and ordering room service. June hoped her father wouldn't be too mad when he saw the room service bill. They never got around to exploring Las Vegas. They spent their time exploring each other.

Ward was holding June and lightly running his fingers over her, languorously up and down. He would never get enough of her soft, mysterious spots. Somewhere along the way, his shyness dissipated and he became a confident, bold lover. Turns out, those ridiculous, spicy stories he heard in the military had come in handy after all. He could feel the tension building inside her, and he smiled into her neck, kissing his way down to the hollow he adored. He loved the pretty flush that caused June's skin to turn pink. Loved the way she squirmed against him as the tension continued to build. Loved the way she chanted his name with the little hitch in her breath that turned plain old Ward into an erotic two-syllable word. Loved that he was the one who elicited these responses from her. Ward knew the last vestiges of Charlie had disappeared. June was his, and he was hers. Ward felt it in the way her body responded to his and saw it in her eyes. They belonged to each other.

June unexpectedly stilled his hand and, lacing her fingers with his, asked him shyly, "Ward, do you…do you…"

"Do I what?"

She flushed again, this time with embarrassment, not desire. "Do you think I'm an iceberg?"

"Iceberg?"

"Charlie said I'm an iceberg."

"Charlie's a fool."

"I've been…Well, I've been wondering if I've been doing everything right. I don't want to disappoint you. And, I don't want you to feel like you have to stay with me if you don't want to. The way we met, the way we ended up married, it's been, you know, _unorthodox_. I love you Ward, but I don't want you to feel trapped. This started with a good deed, a favor to someone you barely knew. The baby should be safe now so if you want, we can get a divorce. Go our separate ways."

A few days ago, Ward might have taken her offer as a sign that she wanted out and let her go without an argument, but he wouldn't let her get away so easily now. He knew for certain, knew in his bones, that June was in love with him. Ward took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. "June, you're absolutely perfect in every way. You're everything I want. Everything I need. Everything I aspire to. If this is trapped, then I want to be trapped with you for the rest of my life." He kissed her deeply, trying to convey all the love and desire he felt for her. He added with a mischievous grin, "And, yes, baby, for the record, you've been doing _everything _right. Exactly right."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

June put down her paint brush and exhaled a gusty sigh made up of equal parts exhaustion and satisfaction. She examined her work and smiled. Almost done. The two hundred tiny flowers that lined the four edges of the small antique table had been restored to their original glossy white. All she had left to do was dab a tiny pink dot into the center of each flower. The table would bring a nice price. Mr. Philpot was sure to be pleased.

The doorbell rang, an unusual sound these days. Ward occasionally brought Nelson home for dinner and Mr. Philpot sometimes dropped off furniture for her to work on and picked it up when she was finished, but otherwise, they never had visitors. They didn't know anyone to visit with. Ward hadn't bothered to make many friends in San Diego, and neither had she. She couldn't afford to let anyone at the diner know where she was lest they tell Charlie.

Ward must have forgotten his keys. Strange that the door was even locked. June pushed herself off her knees and onto her feet and glanced at her watch. Ward was early. He didn't want her overdoing it, and he if he found out she had spent the entire afternoon on her knees working on the table, he wouldn't like it. His doting was sweet and she let him get away it, most of the time. The doorbell rang again, three staccato buzzes. June quickly fluffed her hair and started unbuttoning the paint spattered smock she wore over her dress. The dress was far too snug she conceded. Now that she was well into her six month of pregnancy, she could no longer deny the necessity of maternity dresses. She made a mental promise to herself to start wearing the frumpy tents tomorrow. She had made the same promise last week and failed to keep it. This time, there was no more putting it off unless she wanted to burst some seams. The doorbell rang once again, three long insistent buzzes this time. It wasn't like Ward to be so impatient. She forgot about her wardrobe woes and trotted off to open the front door for him.

"Hey, sugar, are ya rationed?"

The totally unexpected sight caused June's knees to buckle. She sagged against the door for support. "Charlie!" she whispered with shock.

"It's me! Alive and in the flesh! Aren't you going to ask me in?" he demanded, pushing past her without an invitation. Dressed in a flashy new suit, he looked more like a gangster than a sailor. He held a cane in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. The war had ravished his Tyrone Power looks. His complexion was sallow and deep purple bags underscored his eyes. An ugly scar zippered across his cheek. Charlie leaned in close to kiss her, but June dodged his advancing lips. He smiled indulgently at her shyness and squeezed her lightly on the fanny. "You've gained weight while I've been gone."

Terrified of Charlie finding out about the baby, June tried to rebutton her smock without him noticing, but she couldn't make her shaky fingers work properly.

"Don't worry," Charlie wolfishly leered at the lush breasts and fuller hips that pregnancy had afforded her, "it's in all the right places. I like a little something extra to hold onto. Curves beat broomsticks any day." He turned in a slow circle and took in her home. "Wow! This place is bigger than it looks from the outside."

Charlie tried to take June in his arms again, but she wriggled away from him, all but obviously recoiling from his touch. No longer looking at him through the rose-colored glasses of love, the scales finally and completely fell away from her eyes, and she saw him clearly for the first time. Why hadn't she noticed the smarmy cheapness of him before? The insincerity? How did she miss the hardness of his black eyes? The vicious wildness that simmered under their surface?

"Aw, don't be afraid, June Bug, it's not as bad as it looks. I won't break." He hooked his cane on the back of a chair and danced a little jig. "I haven't needed this thing for a couple weeks, but I'm still carrying it for looks, ya know? So Uncle Sam won't get any bright ideas about putting me to work in the shipyards. The scar's not so bad, either. Trixie says it makes me look even better. She calls it dangerously roguish. I'm not sure what that means, but it sounds good, huh?" He grinned, clearly happy with Trixie's assessment even if he didn't know what it meant. "Say, Trixie's not happy with you."

"Not happy?" she echoed. How did Charlie find her?

Charlie wagged his index finger at her and broke into a bad British accent, "I say, old girl, it was verry, verry bad manners to move out without telling Trixie." Switching back to his regular voice he continued, "She was mad as a wet hen at you for taking a powder and sticking her with the rent."

June had purposefully gone to the apartment to get her things while Trixie was out so she wouldn't have to explain why she was leaving. She left a goodbye note, but she honestly never thought to leave Trixie any money. "I'm sorry…I didn't think…"

"Don't worry about it. Trixie's okay now that I've told her my plan."

"Plan?"

"For us to move in here."

June's vision started to swim and it suddenly became increasingly difficult to breathe. Was she going faint? "Move in?" she asked weakly, trying to keep up as Charlie, in his usual fast talking way, ping-ponged from one subject to another.

"Yeah, your rich daddy must've finally decided to come off his hip pocket and pay for better digs for his little girl, huh? Lucky thing I ran into Mrs. McArdle or I wouldn't know where to look for you. I bumped into her in the hallway the other day, and I remembered how you used to run errands for her so I asked if she knew where you were. At first she said no, but I could tell the old bat was lying. I got it out of her."

Charlie making a special effort to find her sent her reeling. Ward had been a lot more concerned that Charlie might try to find her than she. Charlie had been gone for months and hadn't even bothered to drop her a postcard. And he had indicated that she didn't have the bedroom skills to please him so why would he seek her out? Even if her name came up with Trixie, Trixie didn't know where she was so June thought that would be the end of it. June had long since given up the fantasy that Charlie was Prince Charming. The pretty lines he had said to her about always wanting her to be his girl were just that – lines. No doubt he said them to every girl he met. If she hadn't followed him to San Diego, Charlie would merely be a page in her memory book as her first real boyfriend, if she stretched the meaning of the words real boyfriend. Carrying Charlie's child complicated things, but it didn't negate the fact that Ward was her one true love.

June was so happy with Ward; she never thought about Charlie. Much. She couldn't completely shake the fear that he might find out about the baby and come after her, but honestly, what would Charlie want with a baby? Surely, he had moved on. Or, she thought he might be dead. She never actually hoped he was dead. Such cruelty didn't exist in her, but when she let herself peek behind the darkest doors in her mind, she couldn't deny life would be easier if Charlie was killed in the war.

June hadn't had the heart to vanish without telling Mrs. McArdle goodbye. The recent widow was alone in San Diego. She reminded June of her Grandmother Agatha - grumpy, old fashioned, always giving unsolicited advice and talking about how young people behaved in 'her day' as opposed to hedonistic hooligans of the current generation, but still lovable under her crusty exterior because she meant well. Neither did June have the heart to refuse or lie when Mrs. McArdle asked for her new address. June knew giving it to her was a mistake, but she couldn't leave the elderly woman completely on her own. She asked Mrs. McArdle not to tell anyone, especially Trixie, where she had gone. Mrs. McArdle was no fan of the brash Trixie, and she welcomed the news that June was getting away from her. June hoped Charlie charmed her whereabouts out of Mrs. McArdle instead using of more sinister methods.

"I stopped by yesterday, but you weren't home. Man, you shoulda seen Trixie's face when I told her about your place. Howard and me have been living with Trix since we got bounced by the Navy. Howard got wounded, too, in the same battle as me. We got sent home at the same time. The Japs attacked our ship. You shoulda seen me. I really let them have it. I shot down at least two planes even though I was wounded and bleeding and everything. They had to drag me off my gun. A bullet went right through Howard's tin bowler, but his thick skull stopped it. He took one in the gut, too. He was bawling like a baby because he thought he was going to buy the farm. Practically crying for his mommy. Neither of us has to worry about active duty again. If I have anything to say about it, we won't be on any type of duty again. Me and Howard are almost ready to get our boat repair business going. I figure if we move in here, we'll save on rent money and get there that much faster."

"No, Charlie, you can't."

"Why not?" he asked petulantly. "There's plenty of room. This joint must have at least two bedrooms. One for Howard and Trixie and one for you and me." Charlie slowly oozed toward June as she inched backward. The wall stopped her retreat. There was no place left for her to go.

He wasn't serious. He couldn't be. "No," June said firmly.

"Aw, come on, June Bug. Look, I brought you presents." Charlie reached into the paper bag he brought with him and produced a bright tropical sarong and a cheap necklace made of shells. He turned to put down the bag and spied a photo of Ward and June at their wedding in Coronado in a lovely sterling silver frame, a gift from her parents. June was holding a bouquet of roses and wearing the antique veil and there was no question as to the occasion. Charlie jerked up the photo. "What the hell is this?"

"I got married, Charlie. I live here with my husband."

"Married!? Married!?" Charlie's expression zoomed from surprise to disbelief to fury in a split second. He hurled the picture against the wall. The beautiful frame flew apart. Glass shards tinkled to the floor. "You're supposed to be my girl! What about the letters you wrote me? You swore you loved me while you running around with another guy? What about the letters I wrote to you? Didn't they mean anything to you?"

Before she met Ward, she had written tons of letters to Charlie, but he never wrote back, not even once. "Wha…wha…what letters? You wrote letters?"

"Don't pretend like you don't know! I wrote you almost every day. I poured my heart out to you. I was fighting in a war! I could have been killed any minute! All I wanted to do was come home to you, and the whole damn time you were playing me like a violin!"

"No, Charlie, it wasn't like that."

"My pop always warned me about women. Said you can't turn your back on them for one second without them whoring around. I thought you were different, but you're a whore just like the rest of them!"

The blow, when it came, didn't surprise June. She saw what little control Charlie had explode like a bomb. She saw the back of his hand coming at her as if in slow motion, but there was nowhere to run. Her hands flew to her stomach to protect her baby. He backhanded her hard across her face. She didn't feel her head bounce against the wall or notice the trickle of blood from her nose.

"I've been waiting for you, June. This whole time, I've never looked at anyone else even though I had plenty of chances. Plenty of chances! I wasted my money on presents for you." He easily snapped the thread holding the necklace together and shells skittered across the floor. Then, he ripped the sarong in half and threw it in her face. "You go around pretending like you're Snow White. Like you're better than everyone else. Better than me. But you're just a common whore. Just like the rest of them."

Charlie was almost nose to nose with her now. His arms flanked her shoulders, bracketing her to the wall. "Who'd you marry, June? Some rich-boy coward who bought his way out of the war? Some little fairy too chicken to serve? Have you been having fun with your little fairy while I was off fighting? Did you have a good laugh on ol Charlie while I waited around for you? Well, I haven't been waiting all this time for nothing! I'm going to remind you what a real man feels like! By the time I get through with you, you'll be begging me to take you back. You won't want your little fairy anymore and he sure as hell won't want you!"

"Please, Charlie, no," June begged, "Please, don't. Please don't hurt me."

Charlie pulled her smock down past her shoulders and grabbed the two corners of her dress's collar and yanked hard. Buttons popped and cloth ripped, leaving June exposed from her neck to her waist. Charlie looked her up and down, taking her in. His face changed when the fact of her pregnancy hit him. "You're…you're going to have a baby?"

"What's going on here?" Ward's voice boomed through the house, startling both Charlie and June. Charlie abruptly let go of June and she slid down the wall like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

The next few minutes crawled past in a violent, shadowy haze for June. She watched as the two men fiercely fought. Knick-knacks shattered. Furniture broke. She wanted to help Ward, but there was nothing she could do but get in the way. She buried her face in her hands. If Ward got hurt because of her, she'd never live over it.

While Ward was in the Seabees, he had boxed some and was pretty good at it, but Charlie's street fighting was a far cry from Queensberry rules. Ward set his sights on the fresh scar along Charlie's cheek, hammering at it with every chance he got. Charlie punched and bit and kicked and kept coming no matter how hard Ward hit him. Ward tried to dodge Charlie, attempting to protect his back and left shoulder from the onslaught, earning jeers of 'fairy' and 'yellow' from Charlie. Just when Ward thought his body couldn't take any more, he managed to land a mighty blow that sent Charlie spiraling across the room. Charlie's head smacked against the floor and he went limp.

Ward staggered over to him and kicked his foot. Charlie didn't move. He stood over Charlie, watching him like a hawk, ready to resume the brawl if he so much as twitched, until June's whimpering penetrated his adrenaline fueled rage.

In June's hysteria, she fought Ward almost as hard as Charlie had when he tried to peel her hands away from her face. "June…June…baby, it's me. It's Ward." When she recognized him, she threw her arms around his neck. "June, how bad are you hurt?" He disentangled himself from her, trying to get a better look at her bloody nose.

"I'm okay," she replied bravely, frantically running her hands over him, trying to find injured spots. "Are you hurt?"

"Don't worry; I'm alright. Are you sure you're okay?" He carefully wiped at the blood on her face with his handkerchief and gathered her torn dress back around her. "We have to call the police and get you to a doctor. Are you able to –" The last thing Ward heard before spiraling into unconsciousness was June's scream of pure terror.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

"Whore!" June clamped her hands over her ears to shield herself from the ugly word. Charlie had called her a whore. Now, Irina Cleaver was calling her a whore, too.

"Irina! Stop it!" Cleav Cleaver grabbed his wife and shook her by the shoulders. "Stop it this instant!" Cleav turned to the nurse who had swiftly left her post at the nurse's station to check on the commotion in the waiting room. "We're sorry," he said before the nurse had a chance to reprimand them for the noise. "Our son has been seriously injured. We're very upset."

"Please, quieten down," the nurse admonished, looking sternly at them over her bifocals, "or you'll have to leave."

As soon as the nurse was out of earshot, Irina started in again. She pointed at June's pregnant belly. "This, this isn't Ward's doing! I would know. I would know if my son had met a girl he loved enough to marry. I'm his mother. He would have told me."

Shortly after their Las Vegas wedding, Ward called his parents to tell them about June. Admittedly, his story about marrying a strange girl he met in San Diego who conveniently became in the family way on their honeymoon and furthermore, keeping it all secret for vague, absurd reasons for months had sounded lame and completely out of character. In fact, the story had been met with dead silence on the other end of the line, until; at last, Cleav heartily offered his congratulations and welcomed June into the family. Irina, listening on the extension in the bedroom, however, had said nothing, not so much as goodbye when the call ended.

"I never believed his ridiculous story! I thought maybe some tramp lured him into her bed, and he had to do the honorable thing. I could forgive this. Ward's been through hell and he's so far away from home. But, now, I know the truth." Irina pointed at June's belly again. "You tricked him! This is the spawn of that hoodlum who attacked my son!"

"Irina!" Cleav barked, "Stop this!"

"I lost Mina!" she howled, "I lost Wallace! I lost my little chicks! And, I'm going to lose Ward, the only child I have left, because of her!"

June all but collapsed onto one of the hard metal chairs lining the waiting room's walls. She couldn't argue with the woman. She _was_ a whore. Her baby _was_ the spawn of the hoodlum who attacked Ward. His mother may lose the only child she had left because of her.

Cleav manhandled Irina into the far corner of the room and pulled her to his chest. He held her there for several long moments, locking her to him, forcing her to be still. "Shh, Irina," he cooed while smoothing her wild tangle of white hair streaked with inky ribbons of black. "Ward wouldn't want you to act like this. We have to respect this young lady as Ward's wife. She's carrying our grandchild. Possibly," Cleav's voice broke, "the only grandchild we'll ever have." He murmured something June couldn't hear into Irina's ear. After a few seconds, Irina stopped fighting, wound her arms around his torso, and clung to him as if her life depended on it. Cleav lowered his head and kissed Irina's forehead. The tender gestures spoke volumes about the depth of their love. June wondered if it would be like that between her and Ward after they were married twenty-five years. If they had the chance to be married twenty-five years.

Cleav led Irina by the hand to a seat across from June. Ward was right; his mother did resemble a gypsy. June felt Irina's raven eyes drilling into her and wondered if Irina was casting a gypsy curse. Thankfully, Cleav stepped in front of June, obstructing the gypsy's evil eyes, and offered June a paper cup of water. He smiled kindly at her. Ward had inherited his mother's dark features, but his smile was like Cleav's.

"I'm sorry about Irina. Please, try to overlook her. She's very upset. You understand." Cleav patted June's shoulder and sat down beside her. "I know it's hard, but will you tell us what happened?"

So far, all June had told them was that Ward was injured in a fight with an old boyfriend of hers. She would have preferred to form a less sordid version of the truth for his parents' sake, but it would do no good. Earlier, she'd been compelled to give a report to the police, and she had been in no shape to sugarcoat any of it. June recounted the story to the Cleavers with as few details as possible. Charlie Stivers, her former boyfriend, came to their house uninvited, and in a jealous rage, attempted to force himself on her. Ward saved her, but Charlie beat Ward with his cane. Her friend, Mr. Philpot, showed up and stopped Charlie. Mr. Philpot owned a thrift store that had been robbed in the past. Consequently, Mr. Philpot always carried a gun and was able to subdue Charlie until the police arrived. Jealous boyfriends, rapes, brawls, robberies, guns; it all sounded terribly sleazy and immoral in the telling of it. No wonder the Cleavers hated her for ensnaring their upstanding son in her web of shady characters.

Hours later, when her father appeared at the waiting room's door, June jumped up from her perch on the uncomfortable chair and burrowed herself into his chest. "Oh, Daddy!"

"I got here as quickly as I could." Mr. Bronson hugged her close; glad he came no matter what it was costing him. This was too soon after Mabel's death. It was like reopening a fresh wound. When his wife passed away after days and days of lingering in a hospital bed, he had sworn, no matter how unrealistically especially given Peggy's health, to never darken the door of a hospital again. Never again would he stand by as dear one suffered in a stark white room. Never again would he inhale the sickening hospital odors of ammonia and piss. Never again would he wait around with a roomful of worried strangers, in the same boat as him, for a doctor to hand down a verdict of life or death. He hoped for the opportunity to blow his own brains out should the need arise for him to become an inmate of such an awful prison. He didn't want his family stuck there, either, waiting for him to die. When June called with news of Ward's attack, he was tempted to offer whatever parental support he could manage over the phone, but the sound of his daughter's voice, so much like her mother's, frightened and alone, propelled him onto a plane and eventually through the doors of another hospital.

"They won't let me see him." June wanted to weep from fear and frustration in her father's arms, but she had long since shriveled under the heat of Mrs. Cleaver's glare. There wasn't enough moisture left in her body for tears.

Mr. Bronson regarded the girl, no _woman_, he held. He brushed her hair away from her face and lightly caressed the bruise Charlie left on her cheek. His string bean little girl had been replaced by a grownup pregnant woman. Her bright innocence replaced by wary maturity. He wanted his little girl back.

"Don't worry, Junie. I've made some calls. Got in touch with Senator Holder. Between the two of us, we're going to make sure he has the best care possible."

"They say he may be paralyzed."

"Robert is ready to put the best surgeon in the hospital where you and your sister worked on a private plane if need be. Pamela has told me stories about the many miracles the doctors have performed at that hospital. You were there. You saw them for yourself. Ward is going to be fine."

"But –"

"No buts. Come, let's sit down." Mr. Bronson turned and noticed the Cleavers for the first time.

Cleav stuck out his hand. "I'm Ward Cleaver, Sr., Ward's dad. My friends call me Cleav." The men shook hands. "This is my wife, Irina."

"Ronald Bronson." Mr. Bronson offered his hand to Irina, but she simply graced him with one of her patented scornful frowns. I'm guessing she has no friends, Mr. Bronson mused to himself. "I'm so sorry about what's happened to your son. He's very nice young man. He's been very good to my daughter."

Irina shot out of her seat. "Your daughter," she spat venomously, "is the reason my son is here!"

Mr. Bronson put his arm protectively around June's shoulders and tucked her close to his side. "Again, Mrs. Cleaver, I'm sorry about Ward, but this is hardly June's fault."

"Your daughter is a whore!" Irina yelled, "She tricked my son into marrying her! She caused this!"

The Cleavers and the Bronsons were the only people in the waiting room, but still, the humiliation was more than June could stomach. She let out a strangled whimper and swayed unsteadily on her feet. Only her father's strong arm kept her erect.

"Irina," Cleav said firmly, "this has to stop. June is a Cleaver now. She's one of us, our daughter."

"Never!"

Cleav ignored her fervent proclamation to the contrary and said in a placating tone, "Let's give June and her dad some time alone together. We'll go get something to eat."

"I'm not leaving," Irina replied stubbornly.

"Come on, honey," Cleav coaxed, "a nurse told me about a restaurant down the street. She says they have a great Rueben. It's Ward's favorite. Yours, too. We'll try it, and if it's good, we'll bring Ward one after he wakes up." He tugged his wife toward the door, nodding a silent apology to June as he went.

Mr. Bronson sat down with June and giving her another hug, he said, "Don't pay any attention to her, darling."

"It's true," June said quietly.

"What's true?"

"I am a…I am what she said."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I am. You don't know." It suddenly dawned on June that she had forgotten the act, and her father had been introduced to the Cleaver family, not the Stivers family and he never missed a step. And didn't he just use Ward's name? She tried to think back to when she called him to tell him about Ward's beating. Had she said Charlie or Ward? She had been frantic and with everything going on, the deception about Charlie was the last thing on her mind. Had Pam told him already? "You don't know everything I've done."

"I do know."

"No, you don't. I've done some really bad things." Why didn't she listen to Ward and tell him the truth weeks ago?

"I _do _know. I've known everything, e_verything, _since the day your mother and I left San Diego. Pamela told me, and I confronted Ward."

June stared at him with wide-eyed shock. "You, you knew? You knew and you didn't say anything?"

"What could I say? Given the circumstances, I thought it best to let you handle it. You already had your plan well underway. The only thing I could have done is move you back to Chicago or send you away to have the baby, but without benefit of marriage…" he trailed off letting the rest of it remain unspoken. They were both well aware what it would mean for an unmarried girl to have a baby, especially in their social circle. Either the child would be branded as illegitimate or it would have to be secretly given up for adoption. "As outlandish as your plan was, it seemed to be working out." He looked at her with an earnest, hopeful expression and asked, "It is working out, isn't? I mean, you do love Ward, don't you? You are happy, aren't you?" He prayed June was happy because if she ended up in a miserable marriage because he stood by and did nothing to help her, he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

"I love Ward. More than anything. I'm very happy."

"You see, it's working out beautifully."

"What about Mother? Did she know?" June asked, not wanting to hear the answer. The last person June wanted to disappoint was her mother.

"I thought it best not to tell her. She never knew a thing." He smiled, "I've been wondering if I was going to have to refer to Ward as Charlie for the rest of my life."

"I wanted to wait a while before I told you the truth. Until you were feeling better about mother. I didn't want to hurt you more." She also didn't want to lose her father on the heels of losing her mother, if her father decided to cut her out of his life.

"It's okay. You don't have to explain."

"Do you hate me?" June asked in a small voice, not wanting to hear the answer to this question, either. Her father could be a hard man. He set high standards for himself and for other people. Pamela seemed to be the only person who could test his limits and get away with it, but she wasn't Pam, and Pam had never done anything as bad as this.

He looked her squarely in the face and said candidly, "You're lucky; I've had a long time to get used to it. I'm also well aware that there are far worse things that can happen in this life. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed. I never dreamed that you, of all people would…But hate you, never. I love you. Nothing you could ever do would change the way I feel about you."

Tears filled June's eyes. "I'm so sorry, Daddy. I'm so sorry."

He pulled her into a tight embrace. "It's okay, darling. It's okay."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

"Mrs. Cleaver?"

"Yes?" June and Irina said in unison as they both rushed over to the nurse who had stepped inside the waiting room and called their name.

"I'm looking for Mrs. Cleaver."

"I'm Mrs. Cleaver," Irina snapped with impatience, "What do you want?"

"Mr. Cleaver, Mr. Ward Cleaver, is awake." She turned to June, "His wife can see him for a few minutes. I assume that's you."

"Yes," June said, trying to ignore Irina's eyes of thunder.

"Come with me, please."

"But he's my son! I want to see him, too."

The nurse was tired and her feet hurt and she was living for her shift to be over in fifteen minutes, but she managed to reply to Irina sympathetically, "I understand, ma'am, but he can only have one visitor today. And, only for a few minutes. A spouse is always allowed in first." She looked at June, "That is, unless you'd rather let his mother…"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Cleaver, but I have to see him. I'll tell him you're here. The next time he can have a visitor, you can have a turn." June reached for Irina's hand, but Irina jerked away.

Cleav said, "Irina, let her go." When Irina moved to go with June and the nurse, Cleav put his arms around her to restrain her. "She's his wife."

"But he's my son!" Irina wailed, her anguished cries followed June down the corridor, "He's my son!"

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

The nurse held the door to Ward's room open for June. "Go right in, Mrs. Cleaver. He's awake," she said before discreetly leaving. Ward lay on the bed, his face to the wall. He was still, too still. June watched him for a minute, looking for signs of life, before approaching the bed. The clacking of her shoes sounded like pounding hooves in the quiet room, but Ward didn't move. When she saw his face, she gripped the bedrails with all her strength and suppressed the urges to cry or scream or faint. Ward's handsome face was an almost unrecognizable ugly mask of black and purple. One eye was swollen completely shut. The other was merely a dark slit. He had to have heard her come in, but he didn't acknowledge her presence.

"Ward?" Nothing. "Ward, can you hear me?"

With great effort he turned to face her, the lone visible eyeball slowly rolling up to look at her. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice strangely devoid of inflection.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine."

"The baby?"

"Fine. We're both fine. How are you?" The question was asinine, but somehow, it had become inexplicably difficult to speak to the one person she'd never had any trouble talking to before.

"I want you to leave," he said flatly.

"What do you mean? Your room?"

"I want you to call you father and have him come get you."

"What? What are talking about?"

"I want you to go back to Chicago and forget about me. I won't tie you down to a paralyzed man, a cripple."

"Ward, you're not paralyzed."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not. Pam's boyfriend, Jonathan Holder, his father is a US Senator, remember? He's really powerful. He knows people. He sent you a terrific doctor. One of the best in the country. The doctor, Dr. Harcourt, says there's a piece of shrapnel pressing on your spinal cord. The swelling from, from…the beating, it caused the shrapnel to move, but it hasn't cut your spinal cord. The doctor is going to take it out. He's going to work on your shoulder, too. He thinks he can fix it so you won't be in as much pain."

"I'm not in pain, June, that's the whole point." This wasn't strictly true. He felt a numb buzz starting at his chest and moving down his body that was painful but was nothing like the excruciating pain his injuries had caused him in the past. He figured this was what it felt like to be paralyzed.

June took his rubbery hand in hers. She squeezed it hard. "Can you feel this?" He didn't answer her. She put his hand over her stomach. The baby was kicking. "What about this?"

"No."

"It's the baby, Ward. Our baby. She's kicking up a storm. You promised me you'd help me raise her. You promised me you'd be her father."

"I can't do anything more for you or her." He turned his head back toward the wall. "I want you to go."

"I'm not leaving you," she said vehemently, "not now, not ever. Do you hear me? Your wife and your child are not leaving you!"

"I'm not tying you down to a cripple."

"Ward, I told you, the doctor said –"

"I don't care what the doctor said! I can't feel you! I can't feel the baby! I can't keep doing this! I can't keep having surgeries over and over. It never ends! And, I just want it to be over. Can't you understand?"

The nurse tapped on the door before coming in. She checked Ward's vital signs. "I'm afraid he's getting too overwrought. I'm sorry, Mrs. Cleaver, but I think that's enough for now."

June leaned in close to Ward. "I love you, and no matter what happens, I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

June couldn't imagine any holiday being worse than Thanksgiving, but Christmas was giving Thanksgiving a run for its money. Another dismal dinner was eaten in the hospital cafeteria. Mr. and Mrs. Cleaver and June and her father picked at their food and stared at each other. Irina stared daggers at the Bronsons. Cleav stared at everyone in bewilderment as though he couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that his lone surviving child had been beaten nearly to death. Mr. Bronson defiantly stared at the Cleavers, daring them to try to blame this on his daughter. June stared down at her gloppy mashed potatoes and tried not to cry.

June's twentieth birthday was the day before Christmas. Throughout her life, she hated that her birthday fell on Christmas Eve, especially when she was little. Kids were out of school for winter break and adults were busy with holiday preparations so her birthday parties were hastily squeezed in on a surrounding weekend, usually sparsely attended. June suspected that she never received quite as many birthday presents as Peggy and Pamela because she got Christmas presents at the same time. The silver lining was that her mother always took her out for lunch on her birthday, just the two of them, surrounded by frenzied last minute shoppers.

Yesterday, there was no special birthday lunch because her mother was gone. Her father didn't mention her birthday, and June believed it wasn't because he had forgotten it. She believed he failed to mention it because it was a painful reminder of her mother. The holidays and the hospital and trying to conduct business over payphones and telegraph wires were taking a toll on him. Peggy had forgotten as usual. Peggy was always more interested in what she would find in her own stocking than June's birthday. Pamela, at least, remembered to wish her a happy birthday when June called to report on Ward. Not that any of this mattered. All the presents and parties and good wishes in the world wouldn't make her happy without Ward.

For the past year, June had anxiously awaiting turning twenty. After she left her teens behind, nobody, not her parents, or Charlie or Pam could accuse her of being too young. The auspicious occasion had become infamous for reasons she never would have imagined in her wildest dreams. Her brand new decade had been kicked off with a deathly ill brand new husband, an old boyfriend currently in jail for trying to kill her brand new husband, and a baby on the way that didn't belong to her brand new husband. Ward had developed pneumonia and his spinal surgery had to be postponed. It was uncertain if he would survive long enough to have the surgery. Ward was in a feverish stupor, Irina was in a homicidal rage, and June was almost certain she was going insane.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

The surgeries to remove the shrapnel near Ward's spinal cord and to repair the past damage to his back and shoulder were a success according to the highly venerated doctor Senator Holder sent to San Diego. Dr. Harcourt was arrogant and pretentious and about as unpleasant a human being as one can be, but he saved Ward's life, and for that, he would forever be a hero in June's eyes. June wasn't allowed to see Ward much and half the time he wasn't in his right mind anyway, but every time she visited him, whether he was lucid or not, he insisted that he wanted her to go back to Chicago without him. Over the past couple of weeks, the severity of his medical problems had waxed and waned, but his desire for her to leave had not. The first surgeries were behind him, but Ward had a long road to recovery ahead of him, according to Dr. Harcourt. There would be therapy and more tests and more pain, and another shoulder surgery was on the horizon. It was impossible to predict exactly how well Ward would respond to the treatment, but in the end, Dr. Harcourt was confident Ward would live a normal life.

June was over the moon about Ward's good prognosis, but she entered his room with a prickle of dread. He wasn't paralyzed and he was mending, but would he still want her to leave? Had this crisis brought to the surface his true feelings about her and their marriage?

"Ward?" she said tenderly. The nurse said he was awake, but his eyes were closed and June heard him snoring softly. She was hesitant to disturb him, but visits were always kept short so their was no time to lose. June so wanted her husband back. According to Ward's nurse, this was the first day since he became hospitalized that his mind was completely unclouded by illness, medications, or pain. June was also hesitant to wake him because, if what the nurse said was true, it would be their first real conversation in weeks and she feared what he might have to say to her. Ward couldn't blame his health for asking her to leave any longer. If he told her to go back to Chicago this time, it was because he truly wanted her to go. June ran her eyes over him, looking for the least likely place to hurt. She lightly grabbed his knee and jostled his leg. "Ward?"

His eyes fluttered open and he actually smiled after his eyes focused in on her. "Hi," he said, hoarsely.

"Hi," June answered back, reaching for the glass of water on the table next to his bed and giving him a sip.

"Thanks. I didn't think you'd still be here." She couldn't read his tone. Was he sorry he couldn't get rid of her or not?

"Why not?" she asked, bitterly adding in her mind, _as if I don't know._ The question came out too briskly, but it was difficult not to be nervous and on guard. From the start, talking to Ward had been as easy as breathing. She had told him her humiliating secrets almost as effortlessly as talking about the weather. He never judged her or made her feel unworthy of his friendship or love. The past few weeks, their relationship had become strained. Yes, Ward was injured and ill and not in his right mind, but this was of little comfort. They should have been clinging to each other during this awful time, not pushing each other away.

"Because I kept telling you to leave."

"I know," June said, the little spark of anger that had been flickering in and out ignited to a full flame. She was mad at Ward. She was mad at him for treating her like a child, as if she was too immature to handle a bad outcome. How dare he try to send her back to her parents like a kid who could be passed around when she got in the way? What June wanted was a good old fashioned fight, but she couldn't very well fight with a man lying in a hospital bed.

"I just didn't want you tie you down to a cripple."

With deliberate care, she set the glass back in place on the table. "So if get hit by a car and become a_ cripple_," she put sarcastic emphasis on the word cripple, "you're going to leave me? Is that how it's going to work?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then why would you expect me to leave you?"

"June, please, it's over. Let's not talk about it anymore."

June's anger boiled over. "We have to talk about it! Do you know what it's been like for me? Thinking maybe you don't love me? Thinking maybe Charlie ruined everything when he came back? With your horrible mother here who would rather spit on me as look at me?"

"I know you've had a tough time, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry about what I said, and I'm sorry about my mother, but it hasn't been easy for me, either, you know."

"I know," she sighed, her anger receding rapidly. He had had a terrible time, and the fault, she had to admit, lay directly at her doorstep. She was the one who had brought Charlie down on them, and Ward had saved her. Ward was drawn and pale and exhausted. It was impossible to stay mad at him. "Just don't do it again, okay? Never try to make me leave you again. Promise me."

"I promise." Ward's left arm was caught in a complicated contraption of bandages and braces. He reached up with his right arm and pulled her down to him. "Never again. I can't live without you, June. I don't know what I would have done if you'd left me." He held her close. Her soft cheek next to his, the fragrance of gardenias, and the warmth she radiated both physically and emotionally conspired to reinforce what he said was true, he couldn't live without her. He asked out of the blue, "Where's my jacket?"

"Huh?" She reluctantly left his embrace and stood up straight. "What jacket?"

"The jacket I was wearing that day. The day Charlie…" He broke off, he hadn't allowed his mind to revisit that day, and he didn't want to, but he needed his jacket.

"I don't know, Ward. I suppose I could ask a nurse."

"Go find it."

June's brows furrowed in question, wondering if the medications were getting to him again. She set off to find out where his things were and came back a few minutes later carrying a pile of clothes. She put them next to him on the bed. "This is what you were wearing when you were brought in."

"I only want the jacket." She held it up to him and he used his good hand to delve into each pocket, his movements growing more agitated when he kept coming up empty. At last, he reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a bracelet. He cupped it in his hand and presented it to her with a bashful smile. Pretty multicolored stones caught the light, making the necklace sparkle and shine. "Happy birthday and Merry Christmas. I'm sorry it's late and that it isn't wrapped. And that it's the only gift. I'm afraid I didn't get to finish my shopping this year."

"Oh, Ward, it's beautiful! You shouldn't have!"

He sheepishly shook his head. "It's only cheap glass stones. Someday, I'll do better."

"It's the best gift ever! It's just what I want."

Ward drew her down to him and gave her a drowsy kiss. "You're just what I want," he told her as the exertion caught up to him and he drifted off to meet her in his dreams.

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

"Ward, wake up. It's time."

He cracked one eye, closed it, and snuggled more deeply into his pillow. "Can't be time for breakfast yet. It's still dark," he mumbled, trying to drop back off to sleep.

June jabbed him with her elbow. "Not time for breakfast. Time for the baby."

Still mostly asleep, he rolled over and pulled the covers up to his chin. "Baby's not due until the twenty-seventh." After a second, he suddenly sat bolt upright. "Did you say it's time? Time for the baby?"

June nodded with nervous vigor. "I think so, yes. I've been having pains." Ward shot out of bed only to be tripped up by the bedclothes. He landed in a heap on the floor. "Ward! Watch out for your shoulder! Don't hurt yourself!"

"Damn!" he bellowed, fighting with the blankets tangled up with his sling. He extricated himself and sprang up, his gaze darting around the bedroom looking in all directions as though he was trying to cross a highway in heavy traffic. "Okay, okay, okay, okay…You start the car. I'll get your suitcase. No, wait! I'll start the car. You get the suitcase. No, wait! I'll start the car and get the suitcase. You put on your shoes. Here, I'll get them." His race to the closet came to a painful end when he rammed his barefoot into the bedpost. "Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" he yowled, hopping up and down holding his foot.

June sat on the edge of the bed watching him, trying to suppress the amused smile playing at her lips.

Cursing was yet another filthy habit he had acquired in the military. When he was young, he knew better than to let his mother catch him using bad words. "Trashy people have trashy mouths," she used to say before dragging him by his ear to the kitchen where she washed his mouth out with soap.

Ward fell to his knees in front of June and put his hands on her belly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm a father or about to be. No more smoking, no more cursing, no more beer. Church every Sunday. I swear." He dropped his head on her lap for a moment and she stroked his hair.

"I think you're perfect just the way you are."

"Lucky your dad made us keep the car. I wasn't expecting the baby to come in the middle of the night." When someone from a car dealership showed up out of the blue one day with a car, Ward had been adamant they were not accepting it. It was bad enough to be living in a house paid for by June's father. He had no intention of adding a car to the list of debts he owed her family. After several minutes of listening to Ward argue over the car with another person who wasn't even there, the hapless fellow pushed the keys into Ward's hand and hurried away.

"Babies come when you least expect them," June said, her tone tinged with a hint of irony. A spasm of pain tore through her. She clutched her middle with one hand and squeezed Ward's hand with the other. When it was over, she said in a shaky voice, "I'm a little scared."

"Don't be scared, baby. Everything's going to be fine."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave now."

Why not let him stay? Mary O'Donnell, the nurse's aide, soundlessly questioned. Her husband was with her for all five of their children's births. Of course, that was over twenty years ago and she'd given birth to her children at home. Times had changed. Nowadays, women gave birth in hospitals like they were on assembly lines. Babies rolled out like brand new Fords and Chevys. Big-headed doctors and nurses impersonally went from one patient to the next, not caring how frightened a woman was. Most women were, in Mary's experience, frightened, especially first time mothers. Doctors would be frightened, too, if they were about to pass something as big as a melon. Sure as shooting, they'd want somebody there holding their hand if the shoe was on their foot. As far as doctors were concerned, husbands were in the way, cluttering up delivery rooms. As far as Mary was concerned, husbands were there when the crop was sown so they should be there when it came time to reap the harvest. Mary O'Donnell knew June would be better off at home with an old country doctor like Doc Patterson who delivered all of hers. Except for Susie. Susie was too impatient to wait for the doctor. She and Elmer had to deliver Susie all by themselves. Susie was number five so by the time she came along, they were old hands and knew exactly what to do. Doc Patterson arrived twenty minutes too late, and when he walked in, there sat Elmer holding Susie pleased as punch.

"Please, I need him to stay," June pleaded with the nurse in charge of her case.

Poor, kid, Mary mused, she's scared to death. Too bad she's saddled with Nurse Simpson, the snippiest, know-it-all nurse in the hospital. Mary didn't dare intervene. She was only a hired hand there to help with patients, change diapers, and so on. If she opened her big Irish trap, she'd likely get fired. With Elmer too sick to work and four of her five kids away fighting in the war, she had to keep this job.

"His place is in the waiting room with the other expectant fathers. Now, say your good-byes. He must leave."

Ward sat down on the bed beside June and took her hands. He held them while she rode out another contraction. Mary handed him a damp towel, and he dabbed her forehead with it. "Stay with me. I'm scared."

Nurse Simpson held up her hand. "He has –"

Mary dropped the metal basin she was holding. It fell to the floor with a satisfying clatter and splash of water. Nurse Simpson turned her attention away from the young couple to scowl Mary.

"June, I promise, you'll be fine. You're doing great. The doctor will be here soon. They won't let me go into the delivery room, anyway."

"But –"

"Mr. Cleaver, don't make me have to ask you to leave again. It's a busy night. We have six other women here to give birth. We don't need any problems or distractions out of you."

Ward leaned in and held June close. "I love you, June. I love you, baby. The next time I see you, you'll be a mom." He grinned, "We'll be parents."

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

Ward anxiously sat for eons in the waiting room with the other six men waiting to become fathers. The seven men and various visitors alternately paced, chain smoked, used the payphone on the wall to call in updates, and got in each other's way. Ward swapped the cigarettes he had sworn off for hospital coffee. Over the past several hours, he'd drunk gallons of the thick wretched stuff. He was wired enough to provide power to the entire city. Ward would have asked Nelson to come wait with him, but Nelson was in Nebraska visiting his parents. He called the Bronsons, but nobody was home. Ward wanted to call his dad, but he couldn't cope with his mother so he didn't call them at all.

One by one, nurses came in to announce the births until Ward was left by himself. Three boys, two girls, and one baby died. After this tragedy, Ward started praying. Then bargaining. If a life had to be taken in the Cleaver family, please, let it be his, not his wife's or his child's.

A nurse Ward hadn't encountered before hurried in and escorted him out of the waiting room. He felt a great rush of relief that it was finally over until he remembered that when the nurses had good news to deliver, they announced it in the waiting room where everyone cheered and clapped the new fathers on the back. The lone unfortunate man who had received bad news was pulled away to be told privately.

"Your wife is experiencing complications, Mr. Cleaver," the nurse informed Ward in a calm, but in no way comforting, professional manner as she quickly strode down the corridor with him on her heels.

"Complications?"

"Her pulse rate and blood pressure are dangerously low. And she's become hysterical."

"Isn't there something you can do for her?"

"The doctor cannot perform a cesarean delivery because of her low vital signs. She likely wouldn't survive the anesthesia. First babies tend to take their own sweet time. So far, the baby is doing well, but Mrs. Cleaver is drained of everything; her strength, her will, and her sense. She keeps asking for you and her Aunt Jenny. It's rare, but we occasionally have husbands in the delivery room when it's warranted."

"The delivery room? Me?" As much as he wanted to support his wife actually being in the delivery room as she gave birth wasn't something Ward was counting on.

In short order, Ward found himself scrubbed clean, dressed in a hospital gown, and unceremoniously pushed through a metal door into the delivery room. He'd been to war, he told himself, he'd seen worse, but his stomach turned when he saw June, moaning and sweating in all her glory. Ward stared open mouthed at the scene. All modesty had flown out the window.

The doctor left his post at the foot of the bed and came around to Ward. "Mr. Cleaver," he said tersely, I'm Dr. Hammersmith. Your wife is in trouble. She's going into shock. She's awfully thin, but I see no reason why she can't have a regular birth. Earlier, she was given medication to cut the pain, but it only made her more out of touch and caused more physical distress. I don't think a cesarean is an option, but if she doesn't have this baby soon, one or both of them may not make it. We need you to help her."

Uncertain about what exactly he could do, Ward nevertheless nodded his head and went to June. Thoughts of the Seabees raced through his mind. In an emergency, Seabees didn't waste time hand wringing or questioning orders. "June, it's me. I'm here."

Wild-eyed and grasping for breath, her head lolled back and forth on the pillow. "Aunt Jenny's baby is dead. Aunt Jenny, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Who the hell is Aunt Jenny? Ward wondered, forgetting Mr. Bronson once mentioned a sister named Jenny who had lost her baby. He stopped the sweep of June's head in mid arc and forced her to look at him. "June, listen to me, you have to concentrate."

"Aunt Jenny…Poor Aunt Jenny…Her baby is dead. My baby is dead."

He mopped her face with a cloth and raked back the sweaty curls plastered to her forehead. "June, listen. It's Ward. I'm here with you now, just like you wanted. Our baby is not dead. You have to forget about Aunt Jenny. Look at me, June. Look at me."

"Ward?" she whimpered, her restless writhing ceased for a moment.

"Yeah, baby, it's me. You have to focus. You have to focus on having your baby."

"I can't," she panted, "I've been trying, but I can't. I'm too tired."

"Mr. Cleaver," Dr. Hammersmith interjected, "Get behind your wife. When I tell you to, help her push. Encourage her to breathe."

Ward pulled his sling over his head and threw it in the corner of the room. His shoulder was almost healed and his doctor had told him he could stop using the sling next week, anyway. He positioned himself behind June and whispered reassuring words into her ear until Dr. Hammersmith ordered her to push. With Ward with her, June calmed down and the downward spiral of her vital signs leveled out. They breathed and pushed together until Ward, too, was achy and exhausted and terrified for his family. Just when Ward was beginning to believe there was no way this could end well, the baby's head emerged followed swiftly by its body.

The baby started to squall and holding it up victoriously, Dr. Hammersmith grinned and announced, "You have a son, Mr. and Mrs. Cleaver."

Ward lifted June up so she could see. "Look at him, June! He's a whopper!" He gave her an excited kiss.

Indicating the umbilical cord, Dr. Hammersmith asked, "Mr. Cleaver, would you like to do the honors?"

Ward gently lay June back against the pillows and stepped toward the foot of the bed. Now that it was over and he was confronted with a close up view of the gore, he swayed lightheadedly and feared he might pass out, but he managed to cut the cord. The baby was handed off to a nurse to be weighed, measured, and cleaned up.

Mary, the nurse's aide, entered the room and quietly relayed a message to the nurse caring for the baby. The nurse ordered Mary to finish up with the baby and quickly left the room. Mary beamed at the nice young couple, thrilled their baby was safe and that the girl had her husband with her during the birth despite the best laid plans of the hospital. She wrapped the baby in a blue blanket and plopped him into Ward's arms. "Here ya go, Pops."

Ward stared down at the baby, transfixed. The baby had stopped crying and was staring intensely back at him with solemn eyes. "My son," Ward said, a fat teardrop rolled down his cheek, "My son." A tiny hand poked out from the blanket and tapped at his chin. He kissed the tiny fingers. "My boy." Ward felt his heart breaking, but then again, maybe it wasn't really breaking at all. Maybe, it was mending in places that were already broken.

"Ahem, Mr. Cleaver," Dr. Hammersmith said, nodding toward June. "I think his mother would like a chance to get acquainted with him, too."

Ward turned to June, his face breaking into an enormous smile. He handed the baby to her. "Look at him, June! Isn't he something? You did it!"

Her smile was weak but glowing. "We did it," she corrected him. "We did it."

In abject awe, they looked the baby over as if he were the first baby born in the world. They counted ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes and gazed in wonder at the curve of his lips and his strong grip. Mary showed June the proper way to hold the baby so he could nurse. Shortly afterwards, they reluctantly had to give him up when Nurse Simpson swept in with businesslike efficiency and whisked him away to the nursery. The newly minted parents were left alone for a few minutes while they waited for June to be taken back to her room. It was then that June burst into tears. Ward could see these were not tears of joy. "Baby, what's the matter? Are you in pain? Should I get the doctor?"

"No," she hiccupped through her sobs.

She was jubilant only seconds ago. What could be wrong? Ward took her hand. "What is it? Tell me."

How could she tell him? How could she possibly tell him that before he stepped in, she had considered throwing herself down a flight of stairs in the hopes of ending her pregnancy? How could she tell him that she thought about having the baby in secret and then leaving it on the doorstep of an orphanage? What would he think of her if he knew she seriously considered taking the rat poison she and Trixie used to kill mice in their apartment in order to escape the shame? She hadn't had such thoughts in months, but she had had them. Finally holding her beautiful boy made June fully realize what she had selfishly wanted to end.

"I don't deserve him, Ward. I don't deserve to be Wally's mother."

"What are you talking about?"

"Ward, before…before you, I… I thought about doing things. Wicked things."

Catching her meaning, he pulled her close and held her. "June, there a lot of women who, for whatever the reason, have had the same thoughts. There are women in situations like you were in. There are women who can't imagine another mouth to feed. So many women and so many reasons. The important thing is you didn't, and you know what you have now. June, we can't dwell on the past. We can't dwell on Charlie or how this baby came to be or how we came to be. If we're going to make this work, to make certain that the boy never finds out, we have to wipe the slate clean and go forward from here. You, _we, _have a wonderful son. I'm so proud of you, June. I'm proud of my wife and I'm proud of my son."

"All want is to be a family with you and Wally."

"Wally?" Ward asked with surprise, noticing her use of the name for the first time. Between the trouble with Charlie and his recovery, they hadn't spent much time discussing names. At last count, Jason had been the frontrunner for a boy.

"Wally," she nodded confidently. "Wallace. Wally for short. It's how I've been thinking of him the last few weeks."

Wallace was the last name in the world Ward would choose. There was too much hurt and loss associated with it. "I'm sorry, June, but I don't think I can."

"Ward, please, just consider it. I'm not trying to use our son as a substitute for your brother, honest. I know Wallace can't be replaced. I don't know how to explain it. It just feels right. All this time, I was convinced I was going to have a girl, but recently, I became certain it was a boy. And then he became Wally to me. I know it sounds crazy, but it's almost like he told me what his name is. Ward, a lot of happiness went out of your life when you lost Wallace. Maybe Wally can give some of it back. It feels right to me."

It didn't feel right to Ward, but he could live with Wally until Wallace settled in. "Okay," he smiled bravely, "Wally it is."

**Epilogue**

Shrieks of boyish laughter caught June's attention. Smiling, she put down the glass she was filling with lemonade and pushed aside the lacy curtain at the kitchen window so she could get a better look at the football game going on in the backyard. She sucked in her breath when Ward was tackled by three little boys, and exhaled it after he wiggled out from under the pile of boys, triumphantly waving the football, seemingly unscathed. Three against one, the odds were stacked against her husband even if he was playing against five year olds. Not to mention, the kids were far more interested in honing their tackling skills than in properly playing the game. Wally, and his best friend, Eddie Haskell, were slim enough. Eddie was especially small for his age. Lumpy Rutherford, on the other hand, was big for his age and lived up to his nickname. Oversized and pudgy, he looked like a lumpy sack of grain. June cringed again as Ward, with Wally tucked under one arm, Eddie and the football under the other arm, and Lumpy on his back ran across the garden hose serving double duty as the goal line to score a touchdown.

Ward hadn't had any major problems with his back or shoulder for years, but June couldn't help but worry whenever he roughhoused with Wally or did anything too physically demanding. Ward claimed he wasn't in pain anymore. June knew better because she still saw pain flare through his eyes every once in a while, especially when he over did it. His scars were slowly fading. The deep slashes and gouges in red and purple hues were mellowing into dark pink. Ward never discussed the war and never went out in public without a shirt so no one outside their family knew about his wounds. June encouraged him not to worry about what other people thought, but he always wore t-shirts while swimming and exercising. It appeared Ward would never forget those terrible girls who made fun of him in San Diego.

Wally was four years old before he saw his father's scars. June still remembered the look on Wally's face when he surprised Ward stepping out of the shower. The sight of his dad's 'boo-boos' brought the child to tears. June knew how much Ward wanted to hide from their son, but she proudly watched as he steeled himself and let Wally scrutinize his back. Ward held Wally on his lap and told him a very simplistic, watered-down version of how he came to be hurt. Much like his mother had done on their honeymoon, Wally tenderly kissed the scars to make the hurt go away. Wally was a firm believer in the medicinal power of kisses. They always worked on skinned knees. Only June knew about Ward's nightmares and occasional fits of the shakes. These, like the scars, were also fading. June believed in the medicinal power of kisses, too, and used her lips and her body liberally to make Ward's hurts go away.

June pressed a hand over her tummy. She had just been given a resounding kick. "You want Daddy to be careful, too, don't you, kiddo? Or is it that you want to be on the football team, too? You'll see, in a few years, you and Daddy will be taking on those boys together." She eyed her enormous midsection. As of today, her second child was exactly two weeks overdue. Her stomach was huge, and if she didn't give birth soon, she would surely explode. Given what happened when Wally was born, June was more than a little apprehensive about giving birth a second time, but her doctor had assured her that Wally had eased the way for future siblings. Plus, they were aware that she had had an allergic reaction to a medication she was given during Wally's birth and wouldn't be given that drug this time around. "If you hurry up and come out," she wheedled, "you'll be playing with them before you know it."

Ward bounded through the kitchen door, grinning and breathless. He was having a ball with the boys. He enjoyed their games as much as they did. He didn't get a chance to play much when he was a kid, and he was making up for it. "Hey, June, how about that lemonade? We football players have worked up some powerful thirsts."

"I just got a powerful kick." She pointed down towards her middle. "He wants to play, too."

Ward lovingly massaged her stomach. "He?"

"Or she. It doesn't matter to me." They had had this conversation often. He always said the sex of the baby didn't matter, and she always secretly wondered if it did.

Ward helped himself to a glass of lemonade and took a big gulp. "Me, either."

June's mood abruptly switched from sunny to somber. She never intended to ask, but the question popped out involuntarily as well as in opportunely. "It really doesn't matter?"

Ward didn't notice the change in her. "Nope," he replied between slurps of lemonade. He playfully tapped June's nose. "Although, a girl who looks just like her mother wouldn't be unwelcome. Little Mabel? Little June?"

June ignored his jokes about the baby's name. They'd been going around and around for weeks over what to name the baby. June missed her mother and would love to honor her by naming her daughter after her, except she couldn't stand the idea of sticking a child with a name like Mabel. It was too dull and old fashioned, even her mother always said she hated it. Talk about dull and old fashioned, there would be absolutely no June Juniors, either. For reasons she couldn't understand, Ward was stubbornly holding out for one or the other. He was especially fond of the name Mabel, and June almost hoped she had another boy so the issue would become moot.

"Okay, since we're under the gun, Mabel June. It's my final offer."

If the Bronsons hadn't insisted on visiting their daughter in San Diego, Ward probably wouldn't have formally met June. Feeling like a first-class chump after she turned him down for a date, he'd had no intention of ever darkening the door of Dewey's Diner again. Her parents' visit forced June to seek him out. Then, Mabel's illness forced them to turn a hoax that was only supposed to last for few days into an open-ended marriage. Topping it off, Mabel's death was the turning point in their relationship. It was the event that had galvanized them, when he found out that June loved him, not Charlie Stivers. If Mabel hadn't died, maybe he would have served his time as a phony husband and quietly divorced June, or whatever one did to end a fake marriage, once June's reputation was no longer in danger. Considering all this, naming their daughter after Mabel had become of utmost importance to Ward. It would be a lasting memorial to the woman who unknowingly provided the firm foundation on which he and June had built their house of cards. What was once a house of cards was now solid as a rock, and it was such a shame that Mabel didn't live to share in their happiness. As far as the name June went, Ward loved it even if his wife didn't. It was symbolic of everything he loved in life. Mabel June was the perfect name.

"What about a son to carry on the Cleaver name?" June asked softly, looking over Ward's shoulder through the window at the children sword fighting with sticks in the backyard so she wouldn't have to look him in the eyes. There. She finally asked the haunting question that had tormented her since the day she found out she was pregnant again.

Ward put down his lemonade and glanced outside to make sure the boys were out of earshot. "I already have a son to carry on the Cleaver name."

She shook her head. "Not really."

Ward lifted her face up to meet his eyes. "Yes, really." He took another look outside before continuing, "June, you know now is not the time to have this conversation." They agreed a long time ago never, under any circumstances, to breathe a word about Wally's origins if anyone else was on the premises. Once Wally had grown out of his crib, they didn't even dare to whisper about it in their bed at night. And here the boys were right outside the door.

June pulled out of his grasp. She glanced down at the child in her belly and back out the window at Wally.

Ward, too, gazed out the window at Wally, his beloved son, before hissing with incredulity and slight anger, "Has this been bothering you that much?" He had no idea such thoughts were in her head. How could she think he didn't love Wally with his entire heart? The thought that he might play favorites had never crossed his mind. How could June think there would ever be a difference? It was insulting.

"No, not bothering me, exactly," she hedged, picking up on his anger and not wanting him to know how much it actually had been bothering her, "but I would understand if…if…"

"If, what? If I love this new baby more because he's a so-called real Cleaver? You think I'm like my mother?"

"Ward, I know blood is thicker than water, and I wouldn't blame you if –" June bit off the sentence. She couldn't blame him, but it would kill her.

Ever mindful of the children outside, Ward said, "Wally is a part of you, and you're a part of me. We are all a part of each other. June, don't you know that you and Wally are my whole world? Wally is every bit my son. I have been there for all his firsts. I was the first to hold Wally. I found his first tooth. He took his first steps from you into my arms. I held his hand when we walked him to his first day of school. God willing, I'll be there for the rest of his firsts. His first real football game. His first date. His first broken heart. When he graduates high school. When he gets married and for our first grandchild. I have loved Wally since the second he was born. Before he was born, except I didn't know how deep love for a child could run until he arrived. I've loved him, worried about him, been proud of him, worked as hard I as can to provide for him. If all this doesn't make him my real son and me his real father, then I don't know what does."

June loved this man from the bottom of her soul. "Oh, Ward," she gushed as relief washed over her like a cleansing stream. Why did she ever doubt him? "I love you. Wally couldn't ask for a better father, and I couldn't ask for a better husband."

Ward grinned at her. "That works out well for me because I couldn't ask for a better wife and son." He wrapped his arms around June, not an easy feat given her girth, and kissed her passionately. He could hardly wait for his second child to be born, and he could hardly wait to have his wife back to her normal size. "I love you, dear."

Dear. June frowned inwardly at the endearment. Ward had taken to calling her dear because his boss called his wife dear. June liked to be called baby better. Dear just didn't have the same sexy connotation. Ever since Ward started climbing the corporate ladder, he had been changing in little ways. He was a little more reserved, a little more conscious of his standing in the community, a little more content to stay home and read the newspaper. Pamela thought he was a fuddy-duddy.

Pamela was currently in divorce proceedings to end her second marriage. Inexplicably unable to wait for the war to be over, she had married a prestigious doctor from the hospital in St. Paul instead of Jonathan Holder. To call the marriage rocky was a massive an understatement. The doctor, Pamela confided in June, was an alcoholic. The butchery he saw in the hospital day after day was too much for him. His only solace was in the bottle, not in his wife. Perhaps he sensed she didn't really love him. The fights he and Pamela had were worthy of Madison Square Garden. During their three year marriage, Pam had shown up on the Cleaver doorstep more than once to lick her wounds. Literally. The last time Pam visited, she arrived sporting a black eye. A great effort had been made to carefully disguise it with dark sunglasses and layers of makeup, but there was no hiding the nasty purple bruise. June hadn't fallen for the old "I ran into a door" excuse, either. She begged Pam to leave once and for all.

For once, Pam listened to her sister. Instead of going back to St. Paul, Pam flew to Reno for a divorce. After the divorce was finalized, Pamela impulsively married a Latin band leader who worked in the hotel she was staying at in Reno. This marriage had gone down in flames, too, which was no surprise to anyone. At least this time around, cooling off periods or thick makeup hadn't been necessary, as far as June knew. She hadn't actually seen Pam in almost two years, but she sensed Pam was okay. Pam's lengthy phone calls recounting scandalously sizzling sex with Eduardo that were at first, titillating but later, repetitively boring, assured June her wayward older sister wasn't in harm's way with this particular husband. Alas, according to Pamela, the sex was to die for, but she could no longer tolerate Eduardo's wandering eye.

With two marriages under her belt, who was Pam to be calling Ward names? No matter what endearment he chose to use, June loved Ward madly. He still called her baby during their private moments in the bedroom. Or on the sofa or in the kitchen when Wally was away at sleepovers. June had her fair share of sizzling sex, too, but she didn't feel the need to tell the world about it. After the dishes were done and Wally was tucked in, June loved sitting on the sofa with Ward's head in her lap, talking about everything and nothing. She loved it all the more when he turned off the lights, took her hand, and led her upstairs. As long as he was still her Ward when they were alone together, as long as he still reached for her, loved her, it didn't matter how he came across to other people. June knew the truth, knew how he really was. Her husband was terrifically adept at lighting her up and burning her down regardless of what Pamela or anyone else might believe to the contrary because his passionate side was always hidden under a conservative suit and tie.

June snuggled as close as she possibly could to Ward, reveling in the feel of him pressed against her body. After almost six years of marriage, his touch never ceased to thrill her. She gave him her most suggestive kiss, a promise of things to come once she could call her body her own again, and he gave her one right back.

Wally banged through the kitchen door. "Hey, Mom, how about that lemonade?" When he caught sight of his parents' display of affection, Wally waved his arm disparagingly. "Oh, mush!"

**_WBWBWBWBWB_**

Three days later, Theodore Nelson Cleaver, made his much anticipated appearance into the world. Although exhausted afterward, June sailed through delivery like a seasoned warrior. She saw no reason why she shouldn't go home, but like it or not, and she didn't, she was confined to the hospital for one week. As soon as Wally was cleared for a visit with his mother, Ward brought him to the hospital to see his mom and meet his new brother. Ward let Wally punch the buttons on the elevator, and Wally seemed almost as excited about his first elevator ride as he was about seeing Theodore for the first time. Ward patted the breast pocket of his suit to make sure the jewelry box was still safety tucked inside. He had finally saved enough money to buy June the pearl necklace he had promised himself he would give her one day. The necklace was beautiful, not as beautiful as his wife and certainly not enough to repay her for putting up with him and bearing his sons, but he thought June would like it.

June's second pregnancy had stirred up old memories, memories Ward thought were put to rest. The haunting fear that Charlie Stivers would rear his ugly head again never quite went away, but over the years, Charlie had faded into the background as keeping his wife and son clothed, sheltered, and fed took precedence. Ward had jumped at the chance to move his family to Mayfield, Ohio, a suburb of Cleveland, when a job at Brockwell Financial's many satellite offices opened up there. The Cleavers weren't in hiding, but they tried to blend in – just another anonymous family living in an anonymous suburb going about their anonymous, unremarkable lives.

They were doing their best to raise Wally to be his own person, to be honest and resilient and morally upright. Ward wasn't proud of it, but in the past, he looked for signs of Charlie in Wally. He looked for signs of cruelty or violence, but there never were any. Ward was grateful that Wally resembled June. The boy had inherited his mother's clear blue eyes and sprinkle of freckles across his nose. June's strawberry blonde hair had mixed with Charlie's dark hair to create a rather nondescript shade of brown in Wally. Ward was convinced he would have loved Wally unconditionally no matter what, but he sometimes wondered if it would have been more difficult to accept Wally if he had turned out to look like a miniature version of Tyrone Power. Now, thoughts like these rarely cropped up. Wally was just Wally, a sweet, thoughtful, smart little boy who loved root beer floats and any game involving a ball. Wally's love of root beer floats and sports reminded Ward of Wallace. At first the name stung more than Ward ever let on to June, but June turned out to be right in the end. In his own way, Wally had given Ward back a piece of Wallace. If their new son turned out to be half as special as Wally, he and June would be far ahead of the game.

Fresh fears about Charlie prompted Ward to make a call to the Washington State Penitentiary to check Charlie's status. He was relieved to learn that Charlie's brutal attack on a prison guard had tacked on another nine years to his sentence. Ward was also told that Charlie wasn't a model prisoner and unless he turned over a new leaf, early parole was unlikely. Ward knew Senator Holder had something to do with this. They were lucky to have friends in high places. Unfair to Charlie, perhaps, but Charlie had done this to himself, and Ward had no sympathy for him. When Ward first became involved in covering up Wally's parentage, he had felt guilty about tricking a man out of his son, but after experiencing Charlie's sadistic violence firsthand, he no longer had any qualms about hiding Wally from him or keeping him in prison for as long as possible. Wally would be a grown man when Charlie was freed. As far as they knew, Charlie was unaware that the baby June was carrying at the time of his arrest was, in fact, his. But nineteen years in prison was a long time to think so it was entirely possible Charlie would put two and two together someday. If the unthinkable happened and Wally found out the truth, they hoped he would be strong enough not to let his origins affect his life and to be kind enough to forgive his parents for their deception.

Much to the consternation of Cleav and Irina and the authorities, Ward and June had refused to press charges against Charlie. A trial was too dangerous. Too many secrets were bubbling just under the surface to risk a trial. Thanks to Senator Holder's private investigation and subsequent intervention, two women came forward to press rape charges against Charlie as well as man who, like Ward, Charlie had nearly beaten to death during a barroom brawl. Charlie pled guilty to lesser charges, resulting in a ten year prison sentence. The sentence wasn't as long as Ward and June had hoped, but it was better than nothing.

While he and Wally made their way to the hospital's nursery, stopping for an extra unnecessary elevator ride or two, Ward thought about the changes that had occurred in their family over the past few years. Irina was furious Charlie was not charged for attempting to murder Ward and blamed June for it. Irina never accepted June or Wally as Cleavers. Visits and holidays were strained and few and far between. Wally was too young to realize he and his mother were being shunned by his grandmother, but Ward and June were fully aware. When Irina died three years ago, Ward couldn't honestly say he mourned his mother, not as she was. Had Irina lived, it was only a matter of time before Wally sensed her animosity toward him, and Ward was secretly relieved Wally would never have to experience it. The bitter woman was unable see past her pain and accept a new kind of life that included June and Wally. Her loss. Sometimes, if Ward thought hard enough, he could conjure up memories of what his mother was like before Mina died and the damaged twins were born. Ward missed this version of his mother, but she died decades ago. The long ago loss still hurt, and truthfully, so did the second, but not nearly as badly as the first.

Cleav took his wife's death hard, seemingly much harder than the deaths of any of his children. For a while, Ward worried he might lose his father to the grief, if not physically then emotionally. Ward was pleased when a nice widow about Cleav's age moved in next door to him. It wasn't long before the assertive, no nonsense lady took Cleav on as a project. Within a few weeks, Bonnie Matthews had done what Ward thought was impossible. She had turned Cleav around. Bonnie knew what it was like to lose a spouse and to fall into the traps that grief often ensnared those left behind. Irina had routinely kept their house dark and closed up. Bonnie was a breath of fresh air both literally and figuratively. She got Cleav to open the drapes and the windows, letting in air and light. Bonnie coaxed him back into church, back into eating hot meals, and out of his ratty cardigans. Bonnie even talked Cleav into taking square dancing lessons at the community center on Thursday nights. Cleav and Bonnie had been keeping company, Cleav refused to refer to it as dating, for several months. The last time Ward visited, Cleav felt Ward out on his feelings about the possibility of his remarrying. Not, Cleav clarified, that he was seriously thinking about it. Marrying Bonnie was only an idea he was kicking around, but what did Ward think about this ring in the jewelry store window? Ward anticipated an engagement announcement any time now.

In the meantime, Ronald, after years of referring to him as Mr. Bronson, Ward tried calling him by his first name and not getting his head bit off, continued to use it, had married a lovely woman. Not exactly a grandmotherly type, but if it everything worked out, Bonnie would fill the grandmother role quite nicely for Wally and Theodore. The new Mrs. Bronson wasn't exactly a motherly type, either. June's sisters had yet to warm up to their step-mother, especially Peggy, so family drama still ensued. Claudia had Mabel's style and charm, but not her patience with the girls. Her obvious love for him made up for her lack of deftness with his daughters, at least to Ronald. Claudia had no time for Pamela's histrionics or Peggy's self-centeredness and did what she could to shield Ronald from the fallout of his daughters' character flaws. She appreciated June's guileless and straightforward personality, and June appreciated Claudia's tender care of her father. It was nice to see her father smiling again. To June, her mother was irreplaceable; still, she and Claudia had developed a close friendship. Ward often caught them gabbing on the phone about new hat styles or the latest weekend getaway Claudia had planned for Ronald, who still worked too hard.

In the end, Nelson and Peggy had not worked out. However, Nelson was currently dating a nurse who was more than capable and more than willing to deal with his physical problems. She realized the gem she had found in Nelson, and his injured legs we no deterrent for her growing feelings for the witty, compassionate man. Peggy, although not romantically attached, volunteered at a convalescent home for polio victims and was happy to have a worthwhile cause to champion. Claudia sought out the position for Peggy in an attempt to help her find a focus beyond herself. Once she stopped fighting it simply because Claudia had a hand in it, Peggy took to it like a duck to water. Mabel would have been very proud of her youngest daughter.

If only Pamela could find the happiness that everyone else in the family had found. Over the years, Ward and Jonathan Holder had continued to get to know each other even though Jonathan and Pam had broken up. Ward now counted Jonathan as one of his closest friends. Jonathan still loved Pam, but marrying a two time divorcee didn't fit into his political agenda. However, Jonathan confided in Ward that he hoped he lost the upcoming Congressional race.

As Ward and Wally approached the nursery, they heard babies crying and Wally started in with myriad questions, drawing Ward's mind back to the present. When would Theodore, inexplicably pronounced Tweever by Wally, be able to talk? Would Tweever have to eat all his peas at dinner like he did? Would he still have to go to school if Tweever's crying kept him awake all night? And so on and so forth.

Wally pressed his nose to the glass and skeptically surveyed the babies. What fun could these be? Tweever wouldn't be able to play any kind of game for months yet. "Dad, which one's ours?"

Ward scooped up Wally and held him up to the window so he could get a better look. Theodore was sleeping peacefully in his bassinette despite the baby girl next to him, named Judy, wailing like a banshee. "Here he is, Wally. Right on the front row. What do you think about your baby brother?"

Wally waved and said brightly, "Hey, Tweever!"

A woman standing nearby, also admiring the new babies, looked askance at Ward as if rebuking him for naming his child some kind of weird, newfangled name.

"His name is Theodore," Ward explained. "My older son can't pronounce it." He jostled Wally, "Come on, son, you can say Theodore. We practiced last night. Don't you remember?"

"Tweever," Wally said proudly.

"No, it sounds like you're saying beaver. It's Thee-O-Door," Ward enunciated slowly, "Thee-O-Door, not beaver."

Latching onto the beaver reference and completely ignoring Ward's coaching, Wally reached out and touched the glass separating them from the babies. "He does look kinda like the little beaver in one of my books!" he said with excitement.

Ward tried not to laugh. Where do kids get their funny ideas? "I'm sure he'll grow out of this awkward stage soon enough and turn out to be as handsome as you are."

The boy looked at his father in the thoughtful, almost grownup way he had about him and asked, "You and Mom still love me, right? You don't want to get rid of me now that you have a new kid, do you, Dad?"

A lump immediately welled in Ward's throat. Wally didn't know it, but every time he called him Dad it made Ward's heart swell a little bit bigger. Now that he had two sons to call him Dad, Ward thought his heart might burst from the pride and the delight of it. "Of course not, son. Nothing could ever change how much we love you. We couldn't do without you. You have a very important job. You're the big brother. Brothers are very important. Theodore's going to need you to keep him out of trouble. The fact is we all need each other. We're a team. It's you, me, your mom, and Theodore all the way. Forever."

Grinning from ear to ear, Wally wrapped his arms around his father's neck and squeezed him tight. "I love you, Dad." Wally turned and tapped at the glass in front of Theodore. "Hey, Beaver! I'm Wally! I'm your big brother, and I'm going to be the best big brother in the whole wide world!"

Ward laughed and shrugged, "Okay, Beaver it is!"

_The End_


End file.
